Consequences of the Castle
by Of Sandwiches and Sea-Monsters
Summary: Summer 1913. When a bitter argument at Scarborough Castle turns into something altogether more passionate, Matthew and Mary find themselves forced to deal with the emotional and practical consequences of their unthinking actions. S01 AU smutty epic.
1. Prologue

_A/N: Hello and welcome to the beginning of our epic! We're incredibly excited to be finally posting this. We've been writing it since last summer and it currently stands at over 50,000 words... and we haven't even finished Part One yet! So we very much hope that other people will like it too because this is a long term project and it would be great to have readers!_

_The inspiration for this story came from the RPG on the Downton Forums where OrangeShipper writes Matthew and Silvestria, Mary. One of our first RPs there (and indeed at all as writers and friends) was what eventually became _"Storm in a Tea-cup" _which was then followed by the argument at the castle. We then decided to write an AU version of that scene in which, well, what happens in this story happens! Hence the long-running nickname of this story, "Castle AU". This was simply going to be a smutty AU one-shot but we continued it and continued it... and it soon became a fully fledged story with character development and plot and issues and interest... oh, and lots and lots of smut. :P_

_Over the subsequent months, we have continued writing it and indeed reading it. We think (or at least Silvestria does and she's pretty sure OrangeShipper feels the same way) that it contains some of our best writing both individually and collaboratively. We keep re-reading it more than any of our other stories: when we're bored, when we're procrastinating, when we need a pick-me-up._

_So to bring this A/N to a close, we really are incredibly excited to be finally posting this and we very much hope you will enjoy it. _

_N.B. This is technically the sequel to _"Storm in a Tea-cup" _so we strongly recommend (re-)reading that first to get yourselves into the appropriate atmosphere. Oh, and the rating will go up... A lot..._

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><p><strong>Consequences of the Castle<strong>

**Prologue**

_August 1913_

Relations between Matthew and Mary were at an all time low. None of the family could precisely understand why. Admittedly Mary had behaved foolishly in brushing him off at the dinner with Sir Anthony Strallan, but surely it had not been enough to cause this amount of coldness. They had appeared to tolerate each other at least at the flower show.

"Can't you make just a little effort to be nicer to him?" complained Cora in incomprehension on an almost daily basis till Mary wanted to scream from frustration.

What none of them knew was that Matthew and Mary had met after the flower show. A chance meeting in the village had led to an invitation to tea and that in turn had led almost imperceptibly to a misunderstanding and that had led to Mary storming off in disgust. Matthew was still not quite sure what he had done to merit such a reaction. All he had done was compliment Mary's charity work to his mother – surely something anyone might be proud of? Apparently not. And it was hardly his fault if she took umbrage at his involvement in running the estate he was going to inherit; what else was he meant to do? Such a change from her good humour only a few weeks previously. He did not know what to make of it and could not help being offended by her current icy coldness towards him.

The less they had to do with each other the better, was Mary's opinion. He infuriated her with his complete inability to see how he affected her. Did he not realise how hurtful it was to see him take over everything that could have been hers? He constantly got _everything _wrong and it was all the worse because she had been starting to actually like him. He had been going to take her to see the cottages. Well, it would not happen now.

While Matthew steamed, shut up in his office in Ripon all day every day, and Mary steamed, imprisoned by her never-changing life at Downton, the weather outside got hotter and hotter until the whole world steamed along with them.

A week of this passed before Lord Grantham pronounced that he could take no more of it and booked the entire family into the Crown Hotel in Scarborough for a week.

"At least it'll be cooler by the sea," he pronounced, as if the spa facilities would somehow magic away all the problems in his domestic circle.

Matthew booked a week off work very happily. He had never been to Scarborough before and was looking forward to its potential for fresh air and freedom – walks on the beach, exploring its castle, even swimming if the weather held. Preferably solitary and far away from Mary and her cutting remarks, long-suffering sighs, and angry glares (as well as his own mother's comments on the matter).

Unfortunately the weather did not hold. They were blessed with pleasant, warm sunshine on their first day but after that it got increasingly muggier and stickier each day with frequent heavy showers and unpredictable strong winds. The party managed one dispiriting walk along the beach every day but it was hardly the summer holiday they had hoped for.

Matthew was fortunate because he could go out on his own to get away, but Mary did not have that luxury and found herself even more confined indoors than she had been at Downton. The three sisters, their mother, grandmother, and cousin Isobel spent their days in the drawing room of the hotel reading or sewing or fanning themselves and making the same dreary comments about the heat, or daring to dash from the shelter of the hotel to the shelter of an art gallery or the pavilion for tea and cake.

Then there were the meals, taken all together. If Matthew and Mary had thought they might have been able to avoid each other and the stares of their relatives better on holiday, then they were sadly mistaken. Breakfast and dinner became rituals of torture. The poisonous atmosphere rubbed off on the others and by Tuesday evening Mary was unsurprised to find herself summoned to her mother's room for a lecture on how badly she was behaving and how she was single handedly spoiling the holiday for everyone. Mary, who felt that the fault was at least half Matthew's, unsurprisingly resented this.

"What I simply don't understand," said the countess in bewilderment eventually when she had finished working out her irritation on her silent and truculent daughter, "is why you simply can't talk to each other like rational human beings."

When it came down to it, they didn't know either.


	2. Part One: Storming the Castle

**Part One: Storming the Castle (Scarborough)**

**Chapter One**

Standing at the top of the keep, Matthew clutched his hat to keep it on his head as the fresh sea breeze whipped around him. He narrowed his eyes against the wind as he looked out to sea - storm clouds were brewing on the horizon, the waves building to an angry grey swell. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs, feeling exhilarated by it all. This was just what he'd been needing.

Grinning to himself, he turned away and made his way back down the steep stone staircase of the castle keep. He kept one hand on the wall as he went, noticing the feel of the rough, cold stone beneath his palm. In his other hand, he clutched a guide pamphlet. He was finding the history of Scarborough fascinating, and had been lucky enough to have been granted access to explore the castle a little. The officer in charge of the barracks stationed there, seeing Matthew's enthusiasm, had been quite happy to let him wander - he had enjoyed the chance to share his knowledge of the area with someone so keen, and Matthew's intelligent questions had made for an engaging conversation.

He stepped out into the bleak sunshine. He glanced up, noticing the clouds. Being loathe to leave just yet, wanting to make the most of his visit, he decided to take another turn around the walls, and have a more thorough read of the information in the guide pamphlet, now that he had looked around. Standing in the large, exposed area of ground between the keep and the walls, he opened the pamphlet but quickly found it too blustery to hold open comfortably, without the fear of losing his hat as well.

Casting his eyes around, he decided to tuck himself in one of the indentations in the wall by the small towers set into it. That way he could look back towards the rest of the castle, consider the layout of the still-existing rooms and chambers and stay sheltered well enough from the wind.

Having made his mind up, he strode over to the imposing wall. He turned around and leant his back against it comfortably, looking inwards toward the castle, and opened the pamphlet. His eyes shifted between the text and the (largely decrepit now) remains, piecing it all together in his mind. He was sure that his mother would be keen to hear all about it over dinner.

The swirling weather around him was filling him with a strange intensity, translating itself into an intent, focussed study of the text and the hard, physical stone remains that he could see, poring over it all. He could have quite happily stayed there for hours, quite undisturbed.

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><p>The weather on Wednesday left a lot to be desired. A smattering of rain in the morning had prevented any of them from leaving the hotel, leaving all the women stuck together in the drawing room. It was not conducive to familial harmony. The air had a warm and prickly feel to it that suggested a storm might be on its way. Mary could not settle to anything. She read half a chapter of her novel, paced to the windows and back again, bickered with Edith, paced while reading some more, got told off by her mother for not sticking to anything and eventually flung down her book and declared her intention of going for a walk – and <em>no<em>, she did not want any company.

She pulled on her hat and coat, snatched up her gloves, and made her way at a brisk pace along the road above the beach, and into the town. The sea was grey with white horses, for despite the heat of the air there was quite a strong, cool breeze. Mary rested her hands on the rail above the beach and stared out to sea, taking deep breaths. But it was not enough. She felt stifled and enclosed still.

Pressing on through the town, she was hardly aware of where she was going until she had to catch her breath as the road got steeper. The castle would be a perfect place to go. Deserted, plenty of open space and hopefully a strong, cleansing wind. There was a gate directly into the castle walls that she had used before. The military who occupied the main part of the castle rarely came this far onto the headland. She made for it, hardly pausing for breath in her desire to work out her frustration through physical exercise, though by the time she had reached the gate, opened it and let it clang behind her, she was forced to lean against the heavy wall next to it and clutch at a stitch in her side.

She rested against the wall only a moment. Despite her loss of breath and stitch, the gate had come out into a heavily sheltered alcove in the walls. That was not why she had come here. She pushed herself away from it, went up the last couple of steps and strode out, away from the walls, into the open. She took a deep, shuddering breath and looked around in all directions.

That was when she saw him. The last person she wanted to see, whom she had successfully avoided speaking to even when in company since the first dinner together, leaning against the wall with a book, and worst of all, looking straight at her. She felt a iron grip of despair clamp around her heart and she clutched at her side again, pressing her eyes shut. She did not move.

Matthew looked up sharply at the sound of a harsh, metallic clang, his peace disturbed. He felt suddenly on edge.

A moment later, a figure appeared past the edge of the wall, striding purposefully out into the open ground. His heart began to hammer as he realised it was Mary. He felt his blood rush, completely unprepared to face her, she whom he had so desperately been trying to avoid. A barrage of emotion flooded him, the familiar torment, bitterness, desire and frustration swirling in him. He was not prepared for this! The feeling of having been taken by surprise only compounded his agitation, along with his frustration at himself for remaining so affected by her.

And then, she turned to face him, and their eyes locked. She was like a vision; coat flapping in the wind, and her hair wild and wisping out from under her hat, her cheeks flushed and pink. He swallowed hard, his hands gripping his reading material so hard that the pages creased and shook.

He saw her eyes close, and he took the opportunity to recover himself slightly. He took a step towards her; a show of politeness. Forcing the rage of feeling inside him to quiet, he spoke with a strained, overly cool tone.

"Cousin Mary. I'm sorry, you have caught me quite unawares," he said, as if it might excuse his reaction. He stared slightly past her, avoiding her eyes. "I trust you're passing a pleasant day?"

He was determined this time to stick to neutral, safe comments. He would allow nothing that she could jump upon and twist.

For once Mary wished that Matthew could be truly, unforgettably rude. That he could see her, turn the other way and then walk off without speaking. He surely wanted to. She could not imagine he did not considering their behaviour towards each other over the last few days. If only he would not insist on being polite to her she could still enjoy being up on the headland... well, no. She would now have to think of him whatever happened. Would she have done anyway? She did not want to consider the answer to that.

She still did not move, letting him do the work and come to her if he wanted to. She was not sure she could have done anyway, for the vigorous walk was catching up on her and her knees felt quite weak.

"Not particularly," she replied evenly, starting to feel a little sick from the exertion, the stitch, and the heaviness of the air. "There has been nothing to do and this weather is atrocious."

She turned without moving her feet to look out at the dark clouds gathering above the sea and then looked back at him, sticking her hands in her coat pockets.

Ah. So, she was in a difficult mood. It seemed so rare that she was not! But then, Matthew supposed, he would strangely rather she was like this with him than that she smiled sweetly and insincerely and pretended that everything was alright.

He expelled a small sigh, raising his eyes to the troubled clouds overhead, as if they would provide some inspiration. They did not.

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that," he said carefully.

When she made no reply, he wondered whether he should say something else. They could not simply stand, squaring off to each other like this in silence for the rest of the afternoon. It seemed like a stalemate. He tucked his guide under his arm and clenched his hands into his pockets. She would probably not appreciate hearing that he had had quite a pleasant day, or care for any concern he might express over why she should choose to come up here of all places, if she was so put out by the weather. He pursed his lips in thought, glancing at the castle remains all around them.

"Are you interested in the castle, at all?" he eventually settled upon what he hoped this time would be a relatively innocuous question, gesturing with his elbow and a small shrug.

He watched her reaction, tentative and wary, noticing suddenly the pallor in her face - was she feeling unwell? He decided not to mention it, sure that his concern would only cause further offence.

Mary continued to look round the walls, the keep, the headland- its long grass waving in the breeze. Eventually she looked back at Matthew, addressing herself to his left ear, "Yes." She looked around again. "It's a very interesting castle, historically, but I've been here many times before."

She lapsed back into silence and swallowed. Then, feeling really rather shaky, went and perched on the nearest half collapsed stone wall, looking out across the headland to the keep. She walked with purpose and sat with composure, determined not to appear in any way ill to Matthew. She decided, annoying as it was, to remain seated until the stitch left her.

Matthew frowned in annoyance. She seemed utterly determined to make the conversation as difficult as possible. He watched, warily, as she made her way over to the tumbled wall and perched upon it. She seemed tense and strained, not quite herself.

Folding his arms and clutching the guide book to his chest, he walked a little closer, bracing himself as the wind hit him when he stepped out into the more open land. He cautiously approached her, careful to maintain a neutral distance, deciding that he really should say something. The weather was only worsening, the air turning gloomier and thicker, a definite chill coming off the sea now.

"Cousin Mary, are you quite well?" He wasn't quite sure what to suggest if she was not - there seemed little he could do about it. He tapped his arms lightly, looking around at the weather. "It seems to be taking rather a turn for the worse out here, don't you think?"

His voice remained terse and polite, not revealing anything to her, though it was a struggle. He glanced towards her, raising his brows in anticipation of her response.

Mary turned to watch him warily as he approached nearer to her, but when he spoke, asking how she was, she leapt to her feet again, despite having decided not a minute previously not to stand up. At least sitting, however briefly, had helped. The stitch was much less than it had been and she was finally getting her breath back.

"Quite well, thank you!" she snapped edgily, and hugged her arms round her body. The last thing she needed was cousin Matthew trying to be concerned when she did not need it and insisting she returned to the hotel and so on and so forth. It would all have been for nothing!

"I prefer it," she replied, and stared out to sea, her coat flapping under her arms. "Better than the insipid sun we've had all week so far, good for nothing but walking on the beach. Up and down, up and down!" She bit out this little speech in short bursts, frowning.

How could she say that she felt an instinctive kinship with this wild, tense weather? That being out here on the headland calmed her as much as it exhilarated her? It gave her the same feelings she got on a long and vigorous ride on Diamond.

Matthew rolled his eyes with a harsh sigh. She was making it absolutely impossible. Did she do it on purpose? Was it only to him that she was so obstinately unhelpful in her replies? Annoyance and frustration began to prickle at him and he pursed his lips, looking out towards the storm.

"You contradict yourself, cousin. Why do you say it has caused you to have such an unpleasant day, if you prefer it so?" His voice had a biting edge to it, his patience waning.

His words to his mother about getting on requiring reciprocal effort flashed back through his mind. Why _should _it be he that should make all the effort, and she none at all?

"It seems that you were predetermined to have an unpleasant day, if you are so dissatisfied with the weather in any circumstance." Glaring defiantly up at the grey sky, he refused to look back at her. It seemed to fit his increasingly darkening mood.

Mary sighed softly and rolled her eyes up to the sky, unknowingly mimicking his actions. Why did he find it necessary to pick at everything she said? It was a general complaint, not some philosophical statement that needed analysing for contradictions!

She turned to him and was unsurprised to see his defensive, frustrated stance. It nevertheless irritated her. What on earth was the point of it all? Two weeks ago they had been getting on so well and now -

"I don't know why I have to explain myself to you, cousin," she replied and was alarmed at the petulant tone of her voice which she then tried to change, "but I like this weather well enough when outside in it. I was referring to how disagreeable it was to be stuck indoors with nothing to do and nobody to talk to."

In this way she dismissed her entire family with an annoyed toss of her head and turned and strolled a few steps further onto the exposed headland into the increasing blackness of the sky.

It was simply insufferable. Matthew bit the inside of his lip, frowning at her back.

"I see. And is my conversation proving a satisfactory distraction, I wonder?"

He raised his eyebrows challengingly, not quite sure whether he should regret his words or not. His chest rose and fell as he sucked in deep breaths, trying to calm the simmering frustration within him. It angered him that he was still so pathetically desirous of her good opinion, when she made him so angry that he really didn't want to care in the slightest.

As he waited with baited breath for her reply, for what seemed like an age, he realised he didn't want to know her answer. She seemed in such a disagreeable mood that he got the distinct impressed she would rather be speaking to anybody, nobody, rather than him!

Digging his nails into his folded arms, he wished fervently that he was not longing so desperately for a return to their easy companionship of a few weeks previous. He wanted to be angry with her... He _was_ angry with her! She made him so furious! He made himself furious.

Mary raised her eyebrows at the sea and did not reply for a moment. Despite his obvious bad temper with her, his words were strangely challenging in a different way. What was he getting at? She had no idea. Once again, she did not understand why he was bothering talking to her. He seemed to go out of his way to say the most stupid things. All she wanted was to be left alone!

Yet she had to admit she would still rather be out here than back in the hotel drawing room with a bad, sentimental novel. The realisation did not improve her mood.

"Distracting, yes!" she replied eventually and turned round and met his gaze straight on with a little, provoking smile. "But satisfactory, you cannot be serious, Matthew!"

This sounded a little too playful even to Mary's ears and the smile turned into a frowning glare.

His eyes locked onto hers, anger and confusion boiling within him. She was toying with him again. Her insult stung bitterly, yet it was said with a tone that could almost be described as flirtatious... Well, which was it?

His lips parted slightly as he stared at her with a perplexed frown.

"I must apologise if my dissatisfactory company proves a disappointment to you, cousin Mary." His voice rang with bitterness and he sounded strained, utterly unsure of what he felt or what he wanted.

A seed within him wanted to respond to her almost playful tone, but he quickly quashed it as memories flashed through his mind. How he had over and over allowed himself to hope, tentatively responded, only to be thrown down again. Well, he was tired of playing her games. He would not make that mistake again.

"Perhaps you would rather I left you to revel in the miserable weather alone. I certainly have better things to be doing with my time." He blinked, defiantly forcing himself to hold her gaze, his lips pressed together bitterly.

Mary had the perversity to feel offended by Matthew's reply. She had not wanted to meet him - she had been avoiding him! She had not made any effort to be friendly, and yet she felt the sting of hot rejection.

Concealing this inexplicable hurt under flippancy, she shrugged.

"Really, in Scarborough? There are no cottages here for you to visit!" Her tone was lightly sarcastic though her eyes were hard. "Well, do as you wish; I did not come up here in search of company!"

As she spoke, the weak sun was finally concealed behind one of the dark clouds and the headland fell into shadow. Mary heaved a sigh of disgust and turned away from him, assuming he would simply leave her as he clearly wished to do, and walked further out onto the headland nearer to the sea. The wind blew cool on her hot cheeks and she took a few, deep breaths of salt air.

He felt a rage of disgust at her reply and stared after her, his mouth open in horrified shock. How dare she! His lip curled into a sneer and he found himself trembling with rage. The suddenly darkened sky seemed fitting. To bring up the cottages was a double insult; to imply that he had nothing better to be interested in, as well as a slight upon his efforts towards the estate! How _dare _she!

"Very well." His voice was low and had a dangerous tremor to it. His eyes glittered with fury and he clenched his fist by his side.

Throwing a glare at her back, he turned sharply away. He had gone only a few steps before he whirled back round in anger.

"I hope your afternoon improves somewhat now," he spat the words out bitterly. For a moment he remained glaring at her with flashing eyes, his lips twitching in agitation.

Then he turned and stalked away from her.

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><p><em>AN: Woo! Here ends instalment one! Chapter breaks are pretty arbitrary really but it was either this or a 11,000 word chapter which seemed silly... Hope you enjoyed and feedback is always appreciated. :)_

_Thanks!_

_OrangeShipper & Silvestria_


	3. Chapter Two

_A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews. We are so excited that people are excited by this. And... yes. We hope you continue to enjoy it and... please don't hate us too much when you get to the end of the chapter! Like we said last week, it's basically one long narrative so turning it in to chapters is really hard!_

_EDIT: One thing that came across in your reviews was how very S01 it is and how very _young_ they are. They really, really. Coming back to these early sections which we wrote back in the summer to edit them, it struck us too. They're the same characters but so much, well, younger. More innocent. More naive. It's nice to revisit them at this stage but also rather strange._

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><p>Previously on <span>Consequences of the Castle<span>:

_"I hope your afternoon improves somewhat now," he spat the words out bitterly. For a moment he remained glaring at her with flashing eyes, his lips twitching in agitation._

_Then he turned and stalked away from her._

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><p><strong>Chapter Two<strong>

Mary stopped as he spoke, amazed at the passion and anger in his voice. She had somehow not expected him to react so badly. She had - she had been joking! Hadn't she?

She squeezed her eyes shut and lowered her head in resignation and then turned round to try to explain herself in some way (goodness knows how), only to see him actually walking away. He was going to leave her all alone on the headland just like that? She felt a sense of cold abandonment and shivered as a gust of wind blew past her. She felt worse than she had done before she had come up to the castle, and the only thing to look forward to now was returning to the genteel torture of the hotel drawing room.

She ran a couple of steps forwards before stopping again. "Matthew!" she called desperately. "I didn't mean it!"

He stopped in his tracks as her cry rang in his ears. For a moment he stood frozen, his back still to her, shaking slightly. Was it from anger or the cold? He couldn't really tell anymore.

Eventually, he turned round, frowning warily. He was quite stunned to see such a look of - desperation? - on her face. Mary, stupid, obstinate Mary – was she so distressed that he had finally stopped playing her silly games and spurned her?

Matthew wasn't sure whether to be flattered or frustrated.

He took a couple of steps back towards her - no more. He refused to be the one to give in. He would not go running back to her, not this time.

"Then what, pray, did you mean?" His lips twitched, downturned sharply in annoyance. "Do you want me to stay? Or do you want me to go?" He paused, throwing his arms out in frustrated resignation. "The choice is yours, cousin! Only, stop playing games with me and be plain. Am I to continually guess your meaning, only to gain your scorn when I don't understand? Am I to always stand by calmly and be insulted, merely to be pacified with the claim that you 'did not mean it'? Am I to carry on making the effort of conversation while you perpetually stamp upon my attempts?"

His voice rose as all his built up bothers and frustrations spilled out. He was tired of playing, of her hidden meanings and changeable attitudes. He didn't realise that as his rage of words continued, he was edging ever closer to her. "For God knows I have tried to make an effort, Mary! What else would you have me do? Tell me, please!"

His last words were thrown out angrily, a defiant challenge to her. His arms were flung out in a furious gesture, his lips pressed into a thin, hard line. How she tormented him! He was only dimly aware of the weather still closing in, the dark sky and the harsh sound of the wind whipping across the headland only having served to fuel his challenge.

Mary stared at him in shock as he let rip. He came closer and closer towards her and though his vehemence almost made her want to retreat, her legs did not move, and she kept her ground, though she began to tremble all over. Or was that the wind?

"I..." she began helplessly. She blinked at him and half shook her head as if the movement might clear it.

It didn't.

"Matthew, I-" she tried once more and as still nothing came to her, her frustration rose with herself and with him for asking all these questions and daring to insult her.

How worked up he was! She had never seen his hair flutter like that in the wind before!

"I can't tell you because I don't know," she cried in increasing frustration. "I don't know what I would have you do and I don't know what - I just don't know, Matthew!"

His eyes widened slightly at her unexpected hesitance. He had expected her to fling back something equally scathing at him, to put him down further, but not this. At least she was being honest now, even if it only confused him further. He might have quieted his anger slightly had she not protested her confusion with such frustration, as though it were somehow his fault. Had he been unjustified? Unfair? He thought not!

"Well then, how do you expect me to?" he bit out. "For you seem to blame me no matter what I do!"

A harsh, bitter sigh left his lips and he trailed his eyes up and down her, contemplating. He suddenly realised with a shock how close he was now standing to her; only a few feet away. He shrugged slightly.

Mary pressed her eyes shut and turned her head away as his voice continued to attack her. It was all true. She did blame him and she was no longer sure for what. Just looking at him made her angry and resentful and rationally she did not see how his having told his mother about her visiting a lonely parishioner two weeks previously could possibly account for it. But if not that, what was it about? She did not want to address the real tension she felt when she saw him, even to herself.

"What is it, Mary?" Though he felt a little more resigned, his words still had a sharp edge to them, his eyes narrowed into a perplexed glare. "I don't want to fight with you. I don't want it to be like this. I - I don't."

She looked up at him when he spoke again, his voice softening, and clenched her fists in her coat pockets, the pain of her finger nails pressing into her palms a constant reminder of how wound up she was.

"I don't want to fight either, Matthew," she replied, and was horrified at the way her voice caught on his name.

Matthew hated that his heart twinged when her voice softened. He was so surprised by it that he almost missed the slight catch in her voice. He blinked, holding his breath slightly. He was not used to this Mary - the Mary who would talk to him honestly, tell him what bothered her and what frustrated her. He missed this Mary.

He was just opening his mouth to respond to her when she suddenly went on the attack again, her voice starting to get higher and shriller in a kind of panic. "But I don't know what you expect me to do about it! I am not the only one who has been behaving badly. You have been an absolute beast, admit it!"

An absolute beast! He knew that he was not blameless, but that cut him. He was about to hotly reply when he stopped himself, with enormous effort. It would do no good, no matter how much it would satisfy him. His face visibly twitched as he clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing.

"That is a little harsh I think, cousin," his voice trembled with the effort of maintaining civility, his hands balling into fists. "I said some unthinking things, I know, but that is all they were – unthinking!" He became more agitated as he spoke - he was so indignant he could have shaken her. "I certainly meant no offence, surely you must see that – but then, it seems you have been determined since to take offence at everything I say!"

He paused for breath, his shoulders rising and falling as he sucked in the salty air to calm him. With great effort, he forced himself to speak again. Though his words were carefully neutral, his eyes flashed at her. "I am sorry, truly sorry, Mary, for what I said – but it was said without thought and not meant. How long will you punish me for it?"

For how long was she going to punish him? How on earth was she meant to answer that?

Thoughtless? Yes. He had been thoughtless. His ignorant thoughtlessness still stung her. But was it worth sacrificing the tentative steps they had begun towards a more friendly relationship because he had said thoughtless things for which he now apologised? On one hand, Mary did not want to descend to his level and make him feel as if he had to continue saying sorry which would only get tedious. On the other hand, she would have found it easier to accept the apology if it had been delivered with more grace and less simultaneous attack so, it had to be admitted, she felt only partially convinced.

She shook her head hopelessly and pulled her hands out of her pockets and flexed them in the coolness of the ever more fresh and windy air.

"Couldn't we forget, cousin?" she said after a pause of indecision, looking appealingly at him. "Forget that you were thoughtless and that I overreacted? We- we could be friends again!"

She swallowed suddenly as she became aware of his eyes bright on her face and noticed how much he was forcing himself under control, how erratic his breathing was. Amidst her own enforced calm, she felt a stab of unexpected power at how much this argument, how much _she _was managing to affect him. It would be some pay-off, she supposed, for how much she had allowed him to hurt her.

"We were friends before, I think!" she continued with a little more energy and a little more insecurity. "We could forget – if that's what you want!"

Not knowing what to do with her hands now they were out of her pockets, she shoved them back inside and clenched her fists over again.

Matthew eyed her warily, shifting his gaze up and down her, his lips parted slightly. Friends... Friends! She said it as if it would be so easy. Did he even want to be friends? What did that even mean? 'Friends' seemed such a mundane, middling term, that did not befit the strength of his passions. Which direction those passions lay seemed almost indiscernible; she made his blood boil with equal measure of rage and -

His eyes widened as, before he had even been able to formulate the thought, a sharp twinge of attraction flashed right through him, startling him with its intensity.

He gulped, licking his lips, blinking against the wind whipping across his face as his eyes locked darkly onto hers. Its frigidity was a sharp contrast to the building heat within him. His heart beat faster and his breath came quicker in a sort of panic at what he was feeling, not quite clear whether it was hatred or desire.

"Friends?" his voice trembled deeply. How could he tell her that to be 'friends' was almost the last thing he wanted? He dipped his head a fraction, peering up at her from under his brows. "I - I think we were before, yes. What I want now is..." What _did _he want?

His eyes drifted closed as he sighed softly. His voice dropped to a low, intent murmur. "What I want is for us to both stop acting like childish fools and stop playing games." His eyes snapped open again, boring into her. He stood stiffly, concentrating all his effort onto her. "To be clear with one another."

Mary was quite unable to look away from the intensity in his eyes. Her lips parted and she felt her breath coming more quickly. A kind of panic rose up in her. She wanted to escape, but she was rooted trembling to the spot.

She had tried to be safe, to be sure, to deflect, to evade and he was simply not letting her. How could she pretend anything to herself when faced with his passion? She shivered as a fresh gust of wind swept between them, every nerve ending tingling at the way it brushed against her. She hugged herself, her arms providing a defensive cocoon as much as they tried to warm her.

Terror and other competing emotions made her reply, when she was eventually able to make it, come faintly and in trembling tones, "What would you like to be clear about, Matthew?"

She supposed it came back to that dinner and that stupid, stupid, meaningless rivalry with Edith. Playing games. Her father had said so at the time. That was all she ever did and she was suddenly tired of it. Managing a tiny step towards him she cried still in this same, low voice, "I don't want to play games any more either!"

Most of what she said, however, was lost under an ominous roll of thunder coming from the dark clouds that hung over the sea. Hearing it, Mary gasped and looked in that direction, clasping her arms as tightly as she had dug her fingernails into her palms earlier, and then looked back at Matthew with greater urgency.

Matthew was suddenly finding it hard to breathe, his eyes locked upon hers in wonder at the sudden and unexpected drop of her angry, petulant facade. He had lost his temper, he had forced her to admit that the situation was ridiculous, and yet somehow he had not quite expected her to. In truth he had not thought about what her reply might be; his primary motivation had been releasing his own burden of frustration and letting her know how thoroughly furious he was.

But then she had agreed with him. She had been honest with him. She had stopped the games.

But what now? He had not thought about that!

"Then... it seems we agree on something, at least!" He eventually stammered breathlessly. He had to raise his voice increasingly to make himself heard above the wind, but it seemed somehow wrong to be shouting words of such importance at her – for he felt that they were on the cusp of something, some understanding. Though, he couldn't say what that might be yet – it made his heart pound in fear and anticipation.

Mary's eyes widened as he shouted. There was a significance about it somehow but she did not have time to consider it before he was speaking again, but his words were lost in the wind.

"Mary, I... I -"

It was useless. The wind whipped the words away as soon as they were out of his lips and he observed Mary's frown as she tried to hear him. He shook his head, then suddenly grasped her elbow gently, bringing his lips enticingly close to her ear – the proximity made him shudder briefly and he closed his eyes, trying to ignore the tingle sweeping through his body.

"Mary -" he was practically shouting in her ear, simply to be heard. "This is going to do no good at all. We must – will you -" he sighed gently. "I think it would be wise for us to seek shelter from the wind in the castle – we cannot leave things at this."

He drew back to meet her eyes, forgetting to release his hand from her arm, wishing he was sure that his shallow breaths were a result of the awful wind, and not her.

"Yes!" she shouted back, trying to ignore the shivers (from the wind of course) which she felt as he came so close to her, and the feel of his breath on her cheek, as well as the heat of his hand on her elbow. Her eyes met his briefly and then she looked away, not liking how quickly it made her heart pound.

She pulled her other hand out of her pocket and gestured behind her to the relative shelter of the castle walls. "Over there?"

They were far too far away from the castle keep and the military settlement, but there was some shelter here. Not waiting for his answer, she pulled her arm free and hastened into a more enclosed ruined tower. It might not have had any kind of roof but the walls, encircling it on three sides, gave protection from the wind. It felt suddenly quieter. Mary stood as far back as she could in the circle of the wall and waited for him anxiously, trying not to think about anything at all.

Ducking his head against the fierce wind, and clutching his hat to keep it on, Matthew hastened after Mary. It seemed she had picked the most sheltered spot, and he moved to stand by her, shivering slightly.

The relative intimacy of the situation struck him, in comparison to the wild, exposed headland they had just been out on, the sudden quiet falling thickly and heavily. He almost felt as though he should whisper to maintain it. Even his breath sounded intolerably loud and audible in the dark, thick air.

"So," he swallowed nervously, tongue flicking over his dry lips. Though he supposed they were not truly 'indoors', he removed his hat from force of habit, clutching it in both hands. He suddenly felt struck by a sort of panic; why had he suggested they move? At least the weather had provided a distraction! What was he to say now?

As Mary continued looking at him expectantly, he wondered with a flash of agitation why it always seemed to be he who had to make the first move. He took a deep, steadying breath. The air needed clearing, desperately; the atmosphere was cloying, close, claustrophobic.

"I meant what I said just now – I am truly sorry if I have offended you." He frowned gently in apology and thought. "But..." He sighed, his frown deepening. This was difficult. "I don't know where I stand with you. I don't know what you expect of me, or what you think of me, and – it – it makes it very hard." He flinched inwardly at the way his voice wavered and caught.

His fingers clenched around his hat, gripping it tighter to assuage the pounding of his heart. Heat rose in his cheeks, terrified of revealing himself too much.

Matthew's obvious agitation was rubbing off on Mary, making her more flustered than she already was. Nevertheless, concealing how disconcerted she was, she eyed him with a neutral, sceptical glance as he spoke, her eyes flickering over his face, taking in his reddening cheeks, the licking of his lips, and the way his voice caught as he spoke, as much as what he actually said. These physical signals passed over to her almost without her knowing it and her heartbeat speeded up in response.

Then she realised that he had finished speaking and was waiting for something from her in answer. Looking at him, her mind her blanked for a second and she licked her own lips, finding them dry in the electric air.

"Why," she began eventually, her voice sounding loud in the sudden stillness of the tower (though in fact it was uncommonly low and quiet), "should not knowing what I think of you make things hard for you? Do you understand everyone else so very well?" She frowned and looked down for a moment, her eyes becoming strangely fixed on his hands as they grasped his hat. "What exactly are you hoping I'll say, Matthew? Surely you cannot imagine I would give myself away without some indication of what _you _think of _me_!"

In her head as she replied, this had seemed a logical and reasonable response, even slightly humorous, a suitable deflection, a turning of the tables, even a little confidence-boosting flirtation. As the words left her lips, however, they seemed heavy and loaded with meanings she had not intended to give them or even fully understood were present. Give herself away? What did she have to give away? She knew the answer to that though she certainly wasn't going to allow herself to think it and her mind stalled on the phrase without continuing further.

She dragged her eyes away from his hands and back to his face with a slight smile that immediately turned to consternation. She looked away quickly, even turning her body a little away from his as her heart pounded even more uncontrollably, sounding loud in her ears. Her hand went to her neck and she began to fiddle with the top button of her coat.

"Everyone else does not behave in such a perplexing, contradictory manner as you!" Matthew spluttered, frowning slightly, trying desperately to untangle his own thoughts.

She confused him so utterly, her answers and actions perpetually swinging back and forth. She had been so angry, so hateful towards him, and now she spoke of 'giving herself away' - giving what away? That she couldn't stand him hardly needed to be 'given away', it seemed so obvious - or it had done, but now she seemed almost to be teasing him, her voice low and lilting ever so slightly. He stared at her, lips parted a little as he wondered what she meant by it. She seemed to be taunting him into revealing himself, but... Dare he? Or would she throw it back in his face again?

As his eyes flickered over her distractedly, his chest began to feel tight and he was forced to take deep, steadying breaths, uncomfortably aware of how loud it sounded in the still air and how his chest and shoulders were rising and falling. He blinked, fixing his eyes intently on her face. He had been the one to insist they be clear with each other, so, clear he supposed he must be. Or try to, at least.

"It is hard because – because – I don't _want _to be the cause of any offence to you, and – being entirely unable to gauge your opinion of me, as it seems to change from day to day, I am afraid to say anything at all! And..." his eyes fluttered closed briefly, then open again, his hands fisting into his hat to keep his nerve; "that matters to me. It matters because I -" he swallowed, desperately trying to wet his dry throat and lips that were making his words come thickly and unsteadily, "I care about... That – you should know I do not think badly of you, in any way."

His entire body felt tense, wired, like a coiled spring as he dreaded her reaction to his honesty.

Mary continued to look away from Matthew all the time he was speaking. She stared at the ground (trodden earth mixed with pebbles and straggles of grass) and her fingers continued to fiddle and clutch at her top button. She might not have been able to see the struggle and emotion in Matthew's face, but she could hear every tremor, every catch in his voice magnified by not seeing him.

His words washed over her and she closed her eyes. He did not think badly of her? Oh, she fancied he did more than not think badly of her! Mary could not decide if her heart pounded with pain or with unexpected joy - the two things seemed strangely intertwined.

Her throat was tight and it was several moments after he had finished speaking that she was finally able to say in a low voice, still looking at the ground, "Oh, Matthew, you have every reason – every right to think badly of me."

Her low, suddenly serious voice arrested Matthew's attention. He stared at her profile, barely breathing. She was so distracted, so serious, so... honest. What was she admitting?

It was as painful not to see his face as it was to look at him and she turned suddenly to face him, raising her eyes to his with a troubled, intense expression, the abruptness of it making his breath catch.

"You think my opinion of you changes from day to day-" She shook her head slightly, unable to continue and expelled a breath in something almost like a laugh, at how inadequate an expression the phrase was of her confusion about her feelings and the immeasurable effect she wished he did not have on her.

The troubled look in her eyes spoke volumes more than her words. Matthew got the sense that she was trying, really trying, to communicate with him, to put aside all their stupid bickering and over-reacting... But the reasons for that bickering and over-reacting were beginning to crystallise uncomfortably in his mind.

"I think," he spoke very carefully, breathlessly, "that we each have reason enough to think badly of the other – and yet – I, for one, certainly do not." He paused. "Quite the opposite, in fact," he almost whispered.

His lips parted and closed a few times, as he desperately searched for the right words. Could he... Might she... He swallowed, eyes holding her gaze intently. He had to choose his words very carefully, for he had an inkling of what she meant – what she seemed to be trying to say – but was so conscious that he could so easily shatter this strange truce.

"You – you say that I _think _your opinion changes as if it does not," he eventually said tentatively. His brows furrowed a little and he inched towards her, just a fraction, looking at her very seriously. He swallowed again. "Mary, I – must know... What precisely _is _your opinion of me?"

He held his breath unconsciously, every muscle rigid with tension and anticipation.

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><p><em>AN: Thanks for reading! Next chapter next Monday. :) Reviews are love!_

_(And yes, we kind of hate ourselves for ending it there too...)_


	4. Chapter Three

_A/N: Masses of thanks for your reviews and comments so far - we're thrilled you're enjoying it! As it happened, we couldn't wait until Monday either after so cruelly ending the previous chapter, and so decided to push on with the rest of what we had from the original forum thread before it descended into AU territory._

_With that said, here for your pleasure and entertainment is Chapter Three...  
><em>

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><p>Previously on <em>Consequences of the Castle<em>:

_"You – you say that I think your opinion changes as if it does not," he eventually said tentatively. His brows furrowed a little and he inched towards her, just a fraction, looking at her very seriously. He swallowed again. "Mary, I – must know... What precisely is your opinion of me?"_

_He held his breath unconsciously, every muscle rigid with tension and anticipation._

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><p><strong>Chapter Three<strong>

It could have started hailing, snowing, there could have been a tornado and Mary would not have noticed. Now that she had dared to meet his eyes, she could not look away. Her world had condensed into just the two of them suspended out of time and space.

She had many, so very many, reasons for walking away from this situation. She could not, should not say anything that suggested that she - that she felt any of the things she did feel. It was impossible. She had made anything like that between them impossible by her own actions last year. Yet she was quite unable to resist. Her feelings repressed for so long by her own will and self-denial struggled and overwhelmed her.

As Matthew endeavoured to speak further, her gaze followed him, her eyes drifting down to his lips as they opened and closed before looking back at him, her own lips parting breathlessly, the hand on her coat dropping back to her side.

She swallowed and replied, unconsciously mirroring his own phrasing, "I think - I think that if we are likely to think equally badly of each other, then we are probably likely to - to think the reverse equally as well."

Though it was not much, it was the best she could give him. She could not let herself say anything else. It would not be fair. Yet how could she resist what was happening when she wanted it so much?

As she spoke, the world seemed to stop around him. He started to tremble a little, his insides flipping over as an aching longing clutched at him and the intensity of his expression unnerved her. Her eyes had constantly flickered away across his face as she spoke but now they met his again, her brow creasing very slightly, and she moistened her lips briefly. Her hands fisted at her side, an external manifestation of the great tension she felt.

Matthew tracked her eyes, feeling as though her gaze was burning him, electrifying him. He was so aware of his shallow, steady breathing and how his fingers were twitching, unconsciously trying to reach out to her. He wanted to touch her, he wanted to... He could hardly contemplate the rest of the thought.

His mind ran over every possibility of what she could have meant as his eyes fixed upon her face, every one coming back to the same conclusion. But could that possibly be what she meant? Licking his lips nervously, his heart thumping steadily in his chest, he took a step towards her, as though he were being drawn in by a force quite beyond him.

"Mary..." his low voice trembled with the unformulated question.

Without really having intended it, he realised with a small thrill that his fingers were touching hers - he had unconsciously given in to the quiet desire in his heart. Mary gasped at the touch and opened her eyes wide. For a split second her heart seemed to stop beating and then it speeded up unbearably. His fingers seemed so hot in contrast with the coolness of the wind that they burned her hand right through her thin, lace glove.

Holding her gaze, his fingers closed more surely around her slender hand – so beautifully soft and warm even through her glove – and he very gently gave the slightest pull, encouraging her towards him if she desired it. She stepped forward, her reaction instinctive.

Even as she did so, however, she breathed, "Matthew, what-", her voice hardly sounding in warning and slightly shaking her head in a final effort to resist. But her lips remained parted as she trailed off and her eyes were longing.

He blinked in acknowledgement; of what, he wasn't quite sure. Blood was rushing in his ears, and she filled his vision, everything else was utterly drowned out. His lips parted but no words came out. Slowly, his eyes traced down over her face and lingered darkly for a second on her lips, as his grip on her hand tightened imperceptibly. She was entrancing, enthralling, and he couldn't - his gaze shifted back to her eyes, and he drew in a sharp breath as he realised the longing in them...

She knew what he was going to do just before he did it. In fact she had known for a while, really.

An impulse coursed through him, unrestrainable, and he took a determined step forwards and pulled her to him. As his arm snaked round her waist, she went quite willingly, her hands coming to rest against his chest where she could feel his heart beating under them. Unconsciously, his hat fell from his fingers as his hand slipped to the back of her neck and he pressed his lips to hers, freezing for a moment in shock.

For one second she could notice just how blue, how beautifully blue, his eyes were, before he kissed her and everything stopped. She froze too in the shock of feeling his lips on hers and at his own surprise. All she could hear was the pounding of both their hearts and a kind of roaring in her ears. Then she pulled away an inch or two, her lips tingling.

One of her hands came up and cupped his cheek, her thumb caressing it quite without intent, and she looked a question deep into his eyes. Her touch made him shiver, sent thrills rippling through his whole body. He couldn't breathe, unable to process or contemplate anything but the depth of her eyes questioning him, pleading with him. He swallowed thickly, with an almost imperceptible nod. Taking a shuddering, steadying breath he closed his eyes and, with far greater intent this time, dipped his head and kissed her once more, firmly, passionately, releasing everything into it with a soft sigh.

She did not know whether to be reassured or alarmed at his nod and the intention in his expression. It did not matter; she did not have time. As he closed his eyes, she closed hers too in anticipation and leaned forward to meet him. Her hesitations and worries and, heavens, their own characters would no doubt condemn them for it later, but at that moment she could not have acted otherwise. She did not want to. Her thumb continued to caress his cheek and her other hand remained crushed against his chest where she could feel his heart. If anything it was that sensation which undid her and she tilted her head, responding to his kiss with equal certainty and slowly building passion.

His mind blanked completely, aware of nothing at all but the sensation of her against him, heightened by his closed eyes. Unconsciously he clutched a little tighter around her waist and the back of her head, trapping her sweetly against him. The faint rush of cold wind around them only contrasted all the more wonderfully with her warmth, and he was lost in it. He was so aware of her every move, how she responded, how she continued to stroke his cheek, and it was sending repeated tremors shivering through him.

To kiss her like this, to feel this release, the relief and unbelievable pleasure of it after all the tension and bitterness simmering between them was making his head swim. Their argument seemed suddenly ridiculous, long ago and completely beside the point. His complaints seemed mere quibbles. Nothing seemed to matter at all any more, expect that she was kissing him, clutching him to her, and it was the most utter delight he had ever experienced. Their seeming inability to have a rational conversation suddenly appeared entirely insignificant. What words could compare to this?

By this point Mary had given up on any kind of thought; though had she been capable of thinking it she might have realised that while she had kissed men before, this was on quite a different level. Her hand on his cheek slipped round his head and tangled in his hair, taking advantage of his having earlier removed his hat. With a little noise of contentment in the back of her throat, she responded to him with equal joy and release. It was as if she was pouring every emotion she had felt over the last few weeks, every ounce of tension, every frustration, every ounce of forbidden longing into this kiss and it left her limp in his arms.

Matthew sighed softly in pleasure, and she felt it all the way through her right down to her toes. Pulling her hand out from where it was trapped between them, she clutched at his shoulders in order to support herself. Relishing the new sensation, Matthew wondered why he had possibly been trying to deny to himself how much he had wanted this for so long.

She was so very lightheaded it was almost frightening. As their kisses deepened they became ever longer and more languid until Mary could hardly bear the smouldering heat that was growing in her and, still holding him tightly, pulled away and drew a breath with a gasp.

A flash of almost panic flitted through Matthew's gut, the sudden rush of cold air against his face in place of her warmth shocking him back to reality.

His lips remained parted and moist from hers and he stared at her, his gaze roving wildly between her eyes and her lips. She took a couple of gasping breaths, pressing her eyes shut and inclining her head so it almost touched Matthew's. The heat still raged in her and it was an effort to remain standing, her legs were trembling so, and she clutched at Matthew as much for balance as because she craved his closeness, remaining pressed against him, her chest rising and falling with every desperate breath.

In a sudden rush of clarity, a barrage of thoughts hit Matthew, his mind no longer fogged by the enthralling sensation of her lips.

It was surreal. He was standing in the middle of a ruined castle wildly kissing Mary with passionate abandon. It was... quite ridiculous. And yet utterly enrapturing, and he wanted more. But that would be ridiculous. Wouldn't it?

Everything seemed to be in slow motion - the rise and fall of his chest, the thump of his heart - as he remained lost in her eyes, mind racing. They couldn't. It wouldn't be right, it wouldn't be fair - he felt a surge of responsibility, a weight on his shoulders, a protectiveness towards her. It wasn't right of him to put her into such compromise, no matter how right it felt, no matter how much he might want it...

He gulped as he suddenly remembered the expectations upon them. What signal was a kiss to marriage? His breathing quickened and shallowed as it struck him whether Mary may now consider him to have intentions towards her - for what else could such a kiss signify? But it would be wrong, so wrong, they couldn't possibly - not now - not when they had been bickering so bitterly for so long, it was quite impossible, and so to kiss her again would give entirely the wrong impression...

Oh, but he wanted to. The wind was whipping against his face and her hand was still clutched upon his shoulder and he could feel her fingers in his hair and he wanted to kiss her again -

He blinked, shaking his head to cease his thoughts. It was his duty to her to be strong, to do the right thing. They needed to talk about this.

"Mary..." his voice trembled breathlessly with the effort of his restraint, and the passion reeling within him. "I... I think perhaps we might - need to reconsider - where we stand with one another."

As he began talking, Mary opened her eyes and exhaled yet another breath as the deep timbre of his voice sent a new shockwave of desire through her. He swallowed and licked his lips, trying desperately to lift his eyes from where they lingered involuntarily on hers.

"Things can't possibly remain as they are between us, this - this changes things, Mary." He realised his hands were still around her waist and he clutched a little more tightly, nervously. "I think it would be best to -"

If Matthew's mind had crystallized when they had parted, Mary's had done the reverse. She was lost in a fog of sensation. She did not _want _to think. Thinking would mean dealing with what they had done, what they were still doing, thinking would mean analysing what had happened and making a choice - either to never do it again or to legalize doing it. Neither seemed possible to Mary at that moment.

And if thinking was bad enough, then talking was far, far worse.

Out of equal longing to touch him more and to shut him up, she raised a finger to his lips, unable to let him continue down a train of thought that made her heart beat faster with panic at what he could be about to say (whatever it was she did not want him to say it). At her soft touch his breath caught in his throat, fresh pangs of desire sweeping through him. Every rational thought flew out of his head, and he found he couldn't remember what he'd been saying as he gazed darkly into her eyes.

His lips were so soft and her heart turned over at the friction of her finger tip against them. "Don't..." she breathed and opened her eyes wide at the sound of her own voice, so low and tremulous. She swallowed and shook her head a little. "Don't say anything!"

She was so intoxicatingly close to him, pulled against him as she was by his own arms, and her finger on his lips was a burning point of heat in contrast to the cold air around them. He breathed in deeply, knowing that he should step away, he should stop, but he couldn't will his muscles to move. He made a soft sound in the back of his throat as his eyelids drifted closed and he pressed his lips to her finger, kissing it softly.

Mary sucked in a sharp breath. It was only a light touch, hardly even a kiss at all, but she felt it all the way down to her toes, and her eyes fluttered closed for a moment. When she opened them he was looking at her with such a depth of passion she could only stare, only breathe more quickly and her own lips parted.

She was entirely too tempting... Matthew sought (and found) acceptance in her gaze. Slowly, he raised his hand and took hers, kissing the back of it before lacing their fingers together. It caused something other than pure lust to stir in Mary and her eyebrows contracted a mere millimetre in slight confusion. Something gentler, something warmer. His hands... She might be wearing gloves, but they were only thin ones and something about being able to feel every single one of his fingers entwined with hers affected her more, even, than his arm round her waist. It made her feel... She could not identify what, but the small part of her brain that was still properly conscious of her reactions stored it up for future analysis.

Moistening his lips, Matthew tilted his head forwards till their noses gently brushed, hesitating in electric anticipation for a moment… Her breathing quickened as his intention became clear and her eyes closed again. To be kissed by him was infinitely preferable to listening to him witter on and wasn't this what she had wanted in the first place? Her breath hitched and for a second as he hesitated she hardly breathed at all, though she could feel the heat of his own breath on her lips.

Her heart was so tight it was almost painful. At last his eyes closed and he relented, kissing her again. Heat coursed through him and the hand remaining around her waist tightened its grip as he pulled her ever closer to him.

It was all too much.

As his lips finally touched hers again, she exhaled in relief into his mouth and gave herself up to it, wrapping her arm more securely round his neck for support and somehow pulling their joined hands up to be closer to their bodies, holding them tightly against his chest.

The feel of her clasping his hand in response, and the sweet pressure of her lips against his, was driving Matthew to distraction. Dimly at the back of his mind somewhere, he was aware that this was not sensible, it was not proper... But the delight of it, the heady intoxication was overbearing and he was powerless against it. Far more was being expressed, in an incomprehensibly deeper way, than could possibly be expressed through any words. An aching need was building in him and he drew his arm from around her waist to skim his fingertips across her cheek, the feel of her cool skin making him burn. He slipped his hand to the back of her head to hold her closer, kissing her more fervently as he released himself to it.

She responded to him with desperate abandon, her knees almost buckling when his arm released her waist. She could not keep a track of the sensations. His hand on her hair under the rim of her hat, his finger on her cheek as she leant in to him, the demand of the kiss... She gripped his hand ever more tightly, rubbing her thumb unconsciously over his. With her other hand, she stroked his neck, her fingers dancing over the back of his collar. Matthew was painfully aware of her fingers playing there, dipping beneath to his skin… The sensation sent sharp pangs of desire all the way through him, so forceful it was like an exquisite pain.

As they kissed, a gust of wind blew round the round chamber from the promontory where the temperature was sinking and the storm was coming closer. Goose pimples jumped up on Mary's skin and she shivered, even as the cold of the atmosphere contrasted pleasantly with her inner heat.

Feeling her shiver against him, he shifted slightly to protect her from the wind with his body, never ceasing his increasingly heated exploration of her lips and mouth. A soft sigh escaped him as he moved his head the other way, the movement dragging their lips apart for a second and allowing their eyes to meet in reflected intensity before he fell once more into her kiss. It was not enough, he wanted to be closer, to feel her more, and he found himself pressing unconsciously forwards against her until he was halted by the unrelenting face of the castle wall. He tugged his hand free from her to clasp her face with passionate intent, grazing his thumbs across her cheeks as he pressed his body against her, so closely that he could feel her heart beating against his chest.

She gasped in mingled shock and pleasure as she stumbled backwards until her back hit the wall; she hardly noticed its uneven hardness in contrast to the novel feel of Matthew's body pressed so completely against her own. She tilted her head back, crushing her hat against the wall without any care for it, but even as she squirmed against him and wrapped both arms round his neck to bring him closer she felt a rising alarm. She wanted him so much then, she could not deny it, and he wanted her too, but fear of precisely what they were doing (and what this was leading to was becoming more and more evident) was becoming increasingly apparent. Her heart fluttered nervously in her breast, beating a counter rhythm to his and as her gasps and little moans became more frequent, she eventually pulled her lips away, her hands coming up to cover his on her face. She stared at him in passionate anxiety, hardly seeing him through the haze of her desire, her breathing shallow.

He felt it at the same moment she did, felt a sudden churning realisation of what his desirous feelings could lead to, the impropriety and impossibility of it all, and so he did not resist when she pulled away. Immediately a sense of loss gripped him. He was entirely overcome, weak against her. Left reeling from the intensity of what they had done, his mind fogged with passion far beyond rational thought. All he could do was simply rest his forehead against hers, sucking in shuddering breaths as he calmed himself to a more controlled state. With his eyes closed he could still feel her breath hot upon his face. He licked his lips and shivered again as he realised he could still taste her upon him. Her hands were still covering his and gently, he teased his fingers between hers until they were clasped again. He brought their entwined hands down between them, filled still with a desperate need to be in contact with her.

Unconsciously he breathed, "Mary, darling I -" and then he realised what he had said. Sharply he raised his head and stared at her with wide eyes and parted lips, unable to formulate any defence.

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><p><em>AN: Here endeth the forum thread; in which Mary's reaction to "darling" was, frankly, one of horror. As the plot turns AU, how will her response differ? Will it at all? Tune in on Monday to find out... Thank you so much for reading, we'd love to know what you thought so do let us know! :) _


	5. Chapter Four

_A/N: As they say on _Friends_, THIS IS BRAND NEW INFORMATION! This is the first part of the story that has never been seen before except by the two of us. So basically this is starting to get to the exciting part, and I don't just meant exciting like _that_... :D_

_Thank you so much for your reviews, favourites, alerts, and comments elsewhere. They mean the world to us and we really hope you continue to enjoy the story._

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><p>Previously on <em>Consequences of the Castle<em>:

_Unconsciously he breathed, "Mary, darling I -" and then he realised what he had said. Sharply he raised his head and stared at her with wide eyes and parted lips, unable to formulate any defence._

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><p><strong>Chapter Four<strong>

Mary was beginning to catch her breath, the most intense heat fading back to a smaller flame, glad of the maintained contact with Matthew through their hands and foreheads, and indeed their whole bodies that still remained pressed together, when he spoke and jerked back. Her lips parted and she met his stare. Darling. The word cut through her befuddled state and sent a pang of- of something through her. Her mind could not catch up with her feelings. She ought to put an instant stop to this - he looked horrified enough to justify it. She had, after all, been the one to initially pull away. But the word, so simple when spoken by a parent or sister, was like a caress when spoken by Matthew and it melted her attempts at control. She broke one hand free from his and turned his face towards hers.

"Matthew..." she murmured, hardly able to connect his name and his identity with the man before her. "Matthew, don't... don't look like that!"

He blinked at her and dropped his eyes, abashed. His lips were still parted and his chest was rising and falling as he breathed in rapid, shallow breaths. Her low murmur and the soft touch of her hand on his cheek was causing a dull, aching need deep within him that he was struggling to ignore.

"Dear me, I... suppose I have made myself rather obviously clear, haven't I?"

He moistened his dry lips and raised his eyes to her again, the ghost of a shy, nervous smile on his lips. His actions alone had made his desires obvious, but to address her in such a tender declaration, so unconsciously, had left him feeling exposed. He turned his face into her hand a fraction, relishing the feel of her.

She closed her eyes as he leaned into her hand, a wave of longing washing through her so strongly she felt faint with it. It terrified her and shook her and she wanted only to avoid those thoughts that would intrude, those thoughts and feelings. She did not want to know what he meant, what precisely he had made obviously clear, even while she trembled and wished he would be more explicit.

She moistened her lips and replied hesitantly, but with a feeble attempt at rational levity, "Have you? We neither of us have behaved quite as expected, I'm afraid..."

She glanced up and met his eyes and then looked down, away, finally back again, her hand still firm on his cheek, her thumb only moving very, very slightly, almost grazing the corner of his lip.

A soft, longing sigh slipped from his lips at her touch and his eyes briefly closed, drifting languidly back open to meet her eyes. It was entirely too much, he had to actively fight against every single fibre of his being that was pulling him closer to her.

"Perhaps not," he whispered quietly. His voice was barely audible in the cool wind and he shivered, from a strange combination of that and the heat within him. His lips turned upwards gently into a rueful smile. "Then I feel I must apologise, Mary, I'm... sorry."

His eyes traced over hers, and he felt absolutely lost in her breathless beauty. He wanted to kiss her again, needed to, but... to do so would be irrevocable.

She drew in a shuddering breath and was alarmed at the sudden sparkle in his eyes. She did not deserve this, could not accept it. But his final words struck something in her. Contradictory though it was, the idea of him apologising for his feelings was unbearable.

"Why?" she cried in a stronger voice, though one thick with intensity. "Why are you sorry?" she asked sharply, her eyes flashing. And quite without being aware she was doing it, she managed to pull his face forwards, her heart pounding afresh at the sudden passion his words had roused in her.

Matthew gulped slightly, eyes widening a fraction at the sudden intensity in her demeanour. His lips parted and he looked almost desperately into her eyes, barely daring to meet her gaze.

"I... I don't know," he stammered.

He felt stirringly on edge, every nerve ending alight with anticipation and desire. Inches alone separated them, he could feel her breath warm on his face. It was increasingly difficult to resist her; he could feel her rapid heartbeat still and how it matched his own. He couldn't... He mustn't... He was... His eyes drifted closed as he closed the tiny gap between them, pressing a hard, searing kiss to her lips before dragging himself away desperately, eyes flickering rapidly over her face.

"I'm... sorry, I can't -"

"Then don't!" she immediately shot back without even thinking what she was saying, instinctively understanding him.

She wanted him, she craved him with every fibre of her being, nothing - nothing she had ever felt had been like this. Her mind, moments previously, alert to the dangers of their situation, was silent. Now, only one thing mattered. Her hand slid up his cheek to tangle in his hair again and pull him to her in a blistering and passionate kiss. She forced her hand out of his grip and wrapped it again round his waist, pressing herself against him, trying desperately to be satisfied.

The sudden thrill of her passionate embrace forced a low grunt from Matthew's throat as she latched herself to him. His eyes widened momentarily before they closed in bliss, and he gave himself up to it. His hands, now free, slipped to the back of her head, crushing her lips to his. Even more enrapturing than the sensation of it was the building realisation that she wanted him; he was so aware of the fact that it was Mary - Mary, who he had dreamed of and hated and wanted - who was now pressing herself against him and kissing him so fiercely. He leaned forward, pressing her back against the wall, overcome to the point of weakness.

It was not enough and his weight against her was only a reminder of it. Their faces and mouths were so close, so joined but the rest - she felt she was burning and she could feel him shaking against her. Somehow her hand which had clutched at his back found its way under his jacket and fisted in his shirt, suddenly able to feel his skin and the way his muscles moved as he shifted against her.

She hummed a low sound of need into his mouth, even as she was vaguely aware that she had had no idea, really no idea at all, that it could be like this. When faced with Pamuk she had felt as if it could be but the reality had fallen far short of the mark. Even so, she could not have imagined that anything with Pamuk could have compared to how she was feeling now.

As her hand slid under his jacket and into his shirt, realisation hit Matthew like a bolt of electricity. She wanted him. His entire body trembled with need, the glancing touch of her fingers against his back, through only his shirt, sending shockwaves through him. For a moment he froze, pulling his head back a fraction to look her darkly in the eyes. He felt dizzy, surreal, incomprehensible, in the most exquisite way.

Breathlessly he stared at her, his mouth hanging open and lips shining from hers. Swallowing thickly, he searched her eyes with a burning need. He felt on fire, as though a spring were coiled deep within him that needed, so desperately, to be released.

"Mary..."

Barely any sound came out; he could not speak. He tilted his head forwards till their foreheads touched and their noses brushed, begging her with his eyes, seeing in them what he sought, what he _felt_ – only he couldn't believe it. His fingers clutched desperately at the back of her neck, it was not enough...

"Are... are you sure?"

He tipped his head to brush her lips briefly before rising again to meet her eyes. His tongue flicked across his lips, his heart thudded in his chest and there was a rushing in his ears, blocking out everything else but her. There was nothing else but her and his raw need for her.

Why had he stopped? Why had he - Oh. She caught her breath, caught herself in his gaze and was unable to look away. Sure? Was she sure? Oh, she could not say. There were so many things she might be sure about - or not sure. She could not have said whether the realisation that when it came to this particular issue, she _was_ sure, was depressing or joyful. To fall once was a terrible thing. To fall a second time was somehow inevitable. But how could the two things be compared? She had wanted Pamuk out of rebellion and curiosity and a mad, wild, unutterably stupid attraction. She wanted Matthew out of - no. Unbelieavable as it might seem, she simply wanted Matthew. That was all. As he stared at her and these half-understood thoughts flitted across her mind, something changed in her expression, something softer and more yearning. She hardly needed to nod but, unable to look at him any longer, she whimpered slightly, leaning forward into his shoulder. She pressed a kiss, a promise, an assent, half into his starched collar and half onto his neck, feeling the pulse jump under her lips.

His head was spinning. So many thoughts, desires, emotions, spilled through his mind, all centered and honed upon the woman in his arms. His eyes closed and he groaned softly as her lips found his neck, tilting his head back slightly. It was mad, it was completely mad, but the thought of not doing this, the very idea of not doing this filled him with more dread than the overwhelming madness of what they very definitely _were_ doing. It was wrong, so wrong, but at the same time so very, completely, wholly right. He had never felt more convinced of the rightness of anything in his entire life.

Desperately, he stroked his hand down her cheek before easing her face back up to meet his; he kissed her again, pouring his soul into it. He dragged his lips across her cheek, down over her sculpted jawbone and to her neck, grazing her skin with his teeth and sighing against her, needing more. His arms wrapped around her waist, hands clutching at her.

Having capitulated, even without having consciously decided to do so, Mary completely gave herself up to him. She sighed and gasped in turn as he kissed her neck and her hand on his back, not content with grabbing his shirt had somehow reached lower to his belt and untucked it. She touched the bare skin of his back and smoothed her hand flat against it, the ruffled material of her glove contrasting with the smoothness of his skin. Not content with one hand, she brought the other one down and slid that under his shirt too to clutch almost at his shoulders, ignoring any discomfort that so much messing with his clothes might cause. Her head span, she trembled against him and the overwhelming need to be ever closer overruled any other feeling.

He groaned again against her neck as the touch of her hands on the skin of his back drove him wild. All the while allowing his lips to work upon the cool hollow of her neck, his hands began to search her with more intent. There was too much in the way, blocking him, he needed to feel her... His hands traced round to her front and he fumbled to undo her coat with nervously searching fingers. With a sigh he realised her arms were trapped and he quickly tugged at her elbows, trembling at the feel of her hands sliding down his back and out of his shirt. Pulling his head back momentarily, he hurriedly took her forearms and tugged off her gloves before pushing her coat over her shoulders.

She shivered at the feel of his fingers skating over her chest undoing the buttons on her coat, and pulled back to allow him access, her breathing becoming more pronounced as he did so. As soon as he had pulled off her coat and gloves (and oh, the feel of his fingers pulling the material off!) she undid the two buttons on his own jacket and pushed it off, hardly noticing the mess she'd made of his shirt, now half untucked from his trousers. Looking up at him she met his eyes for a moment with clarity. Underneath the desire and heat and whirling emotions that she felt, something in her settled and she saw him. Matthew. This was Matthew looking at her with these wild eyes, Matthew who was her lover. The thought was... strangely reassuring and she blinked at him, putting her arms round his neck and suddenly smiling as she leaned forwards to kiss him again.

The look in her eyes as she stared at him for a moment was startling, filled with a depth of meaning that he couldn't quite comprehend. He met her gaze equally, with acceptance and desire and something more, something he almost didn't dare to admit to himself just yet. That, as well as _this_, would be too much... It was all too much. The air was suddenly cold against his more exposed torso and he shivered before allowing himself to sink back into her warm, tender kiss. He rested his hands on her hips, his fingers beginning to clutch and bunch up the thin material of her dress as he kissed her with a building intensity.

She hung round his neck, almost shy at this new comfort she felt with him. However much she fought with him and disagreed with him and resented him, she never did not trust him, she realised. And now - now her shyness could not last. She responded to his slow, intense, drugged kisses with equally mounting passion, feeling his hands lower than her waist and shivering at the feeling of her dress sliding over her legs. She began to tremble almost uncontrollably and ran her hands all over his front and back until they rested on his belt. There she hesitated, unable at this moment to be more forward.

Burning desire coursed through Matthew's veins and he felt a persistent, aching longing deep within him. It deepened with every touch, every movement, and he gasped sharply at the intensity of it as her hands came to rest on his belt. He drew back for a second, only to meet her eyes desperately and nod slightly. A soft hum of need sounded in the back of his throat and he lowered his lips with passionate abandon to her neck again, wrapping his arms around her waist tightly, the movement dragging her skirt further up where the material was fisted into his hands. He poured every ounce of concentration into her sweet skin, barely daring to think about what she was doing.

She responded to his nod with almost panic and her fingers ghosted to the front, fiddling with the buckle, trying not to think. She was too close to him! She could not - should not - she was a lady! Yet somehow as half her mind rebelled against what she was doing and the other half was taken over by the feel of his lips on her neck and the cold air on her exposed legs (good grief, her legs were exposed! How unutterably demeaning!), somehow it was done and the buckle free. She pressed her cheek against his, her eyes staring suddenly staring out behind him across the circular chamber and out onto the headland. She noticed, stupidly, irrelevantly, that the low sun in the dark sky was causing all the colours to appear with peculiar intensity -

Matthew groaned softly as he felt the sudden freedom she'd released. His breath was coming in increasingly shallow gasps, every sensation heightened deliciously by the cool wind blowing around them. Briefly his eyes fluttered closed in unrestrained pleasure before he kissed his way eagerly back to her lips. A building sense of urgency was pooling in him, desperate to feel her against him and around him. With a quiet moan into her mouth, his hands slipped underneath her dress and skirted around her hips. His fingers skimmed over the cool silk covering her, savouring her, before he relented and pushed down the flimsy garment. That done, he gripped earnestly at her hips, his nails digging into her intoxicatingly soft skin.

Even as he kissed her again, somehow her eyes stayed locked on that spot behind him, but when she felt his fingers touch her so intimately and realised what he was doing, they widened and then snapped back to him and she gasped into his mouth. Then with a sharp shock of mingled pain and pleasure she felt his nails and, writhing slightly against him, pulled her head back so quickly that she bumped it against the wall. She groaned aloud at this, the sound suddenly loud amidst the wind. This audible mark of their actions and her own abandon served only to heighten her desire and she clasped his face tightly between her hands and kissed him deeply once more.

They were so close now, so unbearably, exquisitely, torturously close, he could feel her against him... He gave in to her kiss, tasting her, savouring her, before he dragged his lips away and pressed his cheek to hers.

"Mary," he whispered tremulously, his breath hot against her ear. "I've never - I haven't - done this."

He buried his face in her neck, distractedly trailing kisses along it as he continued to grip her hips desperately. He kissed his way back up to her ear, nipping at it softly with his teeth.

He hadn't? She was surprised, but it was hard to care then.

"Never mind, dearest," she gasped, as he continued to kiss his way along her cheek, adding recklessly, "I ha-" before his teeth on her ear caused her to break off.

Drawing back, he met her eyes. Something was churning within him, a care for her, overwhelming him and overriding his insatiable need.

"I don't want to hurt you," he finally whispered, kissing her softly once more before looking deeply into her eyes.

She held his gaze, all thought of what she had almost said gone from her head at his expression. Her eyes fluttered shut as he kissed her and something twisted inside at his real concern - so different from Kemal's false reassurances of her virginity.

"You won't," she said finally, her voice calm and quite perfectly sure in contrast to her feelings and trembling emotion which was anything but. She shook her head faintly and closed her eyes again. "You won't."

He felt wired, sprung, about to explode with need and desire, but her quiet assurance put him at ease. She looked so relaxed and beautiful and ready, ready for him to...

He couldn't wait any longer.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he rested his forehead on her shoulder and pressed gently against her, unable to breathe as he grasped her hips and entered her. He gasped sharply, exclaimed, gritting his teeth at the almost unbearably delicious sensation, feeling shockwaves ripple all the way through him. At the same time, she cried out wordlessly, not in pain because there was none, but in deep, heart-stopping pleasure, and then muffled her subsequent moan in his neck, feeling his pulse jump erratically as he moved against her, within her. A quiet groan escaped him, as he eventually recovered enough to press his lips to her cheek. All the while his nails continued to dig eagerly into her hips. She arched back against him, away from the wall, trying continuously to ease the building pressure, and hooked one of her legs as far as it would go, pulling him more tightly against her. It was almost unbearable.

Matthew's head tilted back in pleasure, his eyes rolling up before they closed in the most exquisite delight. Tentatively at first, he shifted and moved against her, testing the sensation and exploring it, trembling as pangs of intense pleasure swept through him again and again. He released one hand from her hips and grazed it up her back, over her shoulders till it was clasping the back of her neck. He licked his lips and leaned forward, covering any skin he could find with hot kisses as he began to rock his hips against her with more intent, more confidence, building in urgency. Suddenly he remembered with startling clarity that it was Mary clutched against him, Mary who he could feel all around him, so enthrallingly warm. He clutched her tighter, every breath coming out as a gasping moan as he lost himself in her.

There was no coherence to anything she felt or did. She moved instinctively, her hands clutching at his shoulders, the skin of his back, his own hips, his hair, his face... She hopped on one leg to maintain her balance, pressing against him as much as he was against her, as they swayed together against the castle wall. It was all too much and with a shudder and another breathless cry, she fell against his shoulder, her eyes pressed closed in astonishment and blissful sensation.

It was Mary's exclamation of quiet ecstasy that finally undid him. As his movements quickened with a desperate urgency, the deep heat within him built and built and suddenly everything seemed to shatter and explode and fall apart in the most blissful, unthinkable way. He gasped and released a loud, raw groan into her shoulder, biting his teeth into the fabric of her dress and squeezing his eyes shut as he shuddered and trembled against her. He couldn't support himself and had to raise his hands against the wall either side of her shoulders, falling weakly against her in utter bliss. Heaving in ragged breaths, he slowly recovered and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly to him and pressing soft kisses to her neck.

What happened? It had been... she could not describe it. Her face was still buried in his shoulder, her eyes shut but still she shuddered, though less frequently, and trembled. Her arms were draped loosely round his neck for somehow she could not muster the energy to move them and eventually her leg fell weakly from his. As he breathed she was almost lifted up by the depth of the rise and fall and she found her own breathing ended up in time with his. Then her hand found its way to his neck and her fingers lingered lightly there, barely touching the soft skin. Her mind was blank. It had to be. Thought, recollection, explanation were all impossible.

With one arm wrapped firmly around her waist and the other around her shoulders, his fingers at the back of her neck twisting gently into her hair, Matthew rested his cheek against hers with closed eyes and parted lips. He felt entirely complete, satiated; in such a way that he'd never even considered he could feel. It, she, felt absolutely right. Swallowing thickly, he gave a gentle sigh, turning his face in towards her and brushing his lips over her cheek. Little tremors and shivers continued to ripple through him like aftershocks, making him gasp still. After what felt like a long while, he leaned back slightly and looked at her in wonder, took in her flushed cheeks and hooded eyes, and thought she was utterly perfect. Mary, whom he had loved.

He was so tender towards her. Even now when he could walk away and leave her (not that, if she had thought about it, she would have expected him to), he held her and kissed her and loved her. Her mind hitched on the word and tried to send it back but it remained there and she opened her eyes to see him looking at her, flushed, relaxed, satisfied, with such adoration her breath caught again. She blinked to try to clear the fog she felt. She blinked again then finally gave up for the moment and leaned forward, resting her forehead against his and sighing gently.

Matthew's lips curled into a relaxed smile as she leaned into him. He felt as though he should say something, mark this in some way, but he couldn't think coherently enough for it still. He felt as though he should feel guilty, but could not bring himself to. He blinked as it occurred to him, through a fog, that only a short time ago - was it minutes? Hours? - he had been shouting in blind fury at her. He'd been so angry. How... how had they turned around so entirely to come to this? He took a breath and shifted his arms to clasp her face gently.

"I suppose this really does change things," he murmured quietly.

He lingered a few moments more, content in her warm embrace, before realising with a slight twist in his gut that they were still very intimately joined. He raised his head, blushing a little, and stepped slightly away from her. He gasped quietly as they parted, feeling suddenly cold and exposed, then fumbled hastily with his trousers to rearrange himself. Their parting, the loss, left him suddenly shy. It was quite ridiculous, he thought to himself. He wanted to hold her again, take her tenderly into his arms, but... wasn't quite sure what the appropriate thing to do was, now.

For a moment she only looked softly at him. Yes, it did change things, but she could not quite care. If this was change then she was all for it... Then he pulled away from her and she pressed her eyes closed at the loss and sudden coldness. Reality hit sharply. Her dress was bunched up, her undergarments were around her knees. Good God! Flushing with the embarrassment she had not been able to feel earlier she bent down and pulled them up and hardly noticing him, pushed past him away from the wall to shake out her skirts, frantically trying to arrange them into something approaching order before looking up at him.

He stood for a moment, her body only inches away and crying out to him - and then distractedly stooped to pick up her gloves and coat from the ground. He smiled nervously as he held them out to her and she felt another thrill of horror.

Her cream coat was splattered with earth and some greeny substance (probably mildew from the castle wall) and her gloves were quite ruined! She could hardly take them. She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth in stupefaction and stared at him in wordless disbelief. But meeting his eyes was painful too, for those eyes - that face - that mouth had... Even as she stood there she longed to push back a strand of his hair that had flopped over his forehead. Her fingers itched to. She glanced down at her coat again. If it looked like that then what about the back of her white, summer dress?

With a gasp of "My dress!" she spun round, her hand clawing at her back as if she could somehow see the damage that way.

Matthew stared at her with wide eyes in a sort of dumb shock as she flustered. After what they had just done, the deepest intimacy they had shared, the singular thing on her mind was her clothes?

"Mary," he said quietly but firmly. She ignored him. "Mary!" A little louder.

Sighing in frustration, he shoved her (frankly ruined) gloves into his pocket and grasped her arms firmly, almost having to shake her until she stopped.

"It's alright, Mary," he murmured. Was it? His mind was tumbling all over the place, but the last thing he wanted was for her to be worrying about this, now! He turned her gently away from him and placed his hand on her back, lingering for a moment before he swept the worst of the debris off. "We'll... We'll say you fell over, or stumbled into the wall, or something... It's alright."

"Stumbled into a wall?" she cried, twisting to face him again, as she tried to ignore the feel of his hand on her back. What had burned before now felt warm and reassuring as he had succeeded in calming her hysteria before it had even managed to take hold. Just looking at his familiar face and the hopeful, affectionate (dear Lord) expression on it was enough to restore her somewhat even as it disturbed her, and she managed to add in a murmur as she turned back to face him, "I suppose that would be one way of describing it!"

His lips twitched into a fond smile of incredulity at her continued state of fluster. Everything about her was reminding him of it, of the feel of her, and he felt such a great affection for her - a knowing, intimate affection that was a new, and pleasurable, feeling.

She met his eyes for only a moment before taking her coat back and brushing it down a little - futilely - and pulling it on, without bothering to do up the buttons. She was not sure she could. The memories of his fingers undoing them, and… Her hands still trembled. Why did they tremble still? She felt so limp, so indescribably warm even in the cold evening air, so different. She wanted to lie down. She wanted him to embrace her. Every time she looked at him, at his arms, at his chest, at anything, she wanted to be with him, in every conceivable way.

In a desperate attempt to rid herself of these terrifying desires, she nodded down at him. "Your shirt, Matthew! You need to -"

She shrugged slightly to express what she wanted to say, before fumbling with her hat pins. It would be too much to hope that _that_ would be undamaged.

His eyes widened slightly as she gestured at his shirt. Hastily he looked down, shoving it back into his trousers, trying desperately not to think of how her hands had felt tugging it eagerly out of them, of her hands on his skin... He coughed and retrieved his jacket from the ground, pulling it on and doing it up.

"Well," he said quietly. His throat felt tight. He didn't know what to do. He glanced up and noticed the ever darkening sky. He had been so oblivious to it, to everything. "I saw a tea shop in the town on my way up..."

He felt a sudden desperate urge to get away from there. Back to a place of normality. "We should probably clean ourselves up a little before returning to the hotel." He raised his eyebrows and offered his elbow to her; it seemed a silly gesture after what they had done but was all he could manage.

She had been desperately patting her hat back into shape. Fortunately it sprang back relatively quickly, but some of her hair had escaped from its ties as she had removed it (and earlier, too, thanks to his fingers...) It was nevertheless discoloured but that could not be helped. She seized on his suggestion as a lifeline, nodding and swallowing and glancing at him as she jammed her hat back on her head, trying not to think of her overall appearance. Perhaps she ought to adopt a limp for added plausibility?

"Yes! That's a good idea." She smiled warmly at him for the first time since - since they had stopped, the smile lingering a little moment too long in her eyes. "I need a mirror."

What she actually needed was a hot bath but that was unlikely to be found in a tea shop. She tentatively looped her arm through his, looking up at him for a moment, before leaving the chamber together. She glanced back briefly at the unassuming, round space. She was not sure she would be able to go into a castle without blushing ever again.

As they walked back across the headland in comfortable silence, arm in arm, Matthew felt a warmth spreading through him. He felt light, a little dizzy, breathless, unable to wrap his mind fully around what had happened between them. He didn't speak, couldn't think of anything adequate to say. Sporadically he glanced across at her, marvelling at her and how strangely normal she seemed - he felt as though something should be different, as though it must somehow be obvious, their secret written across them. Eventually they reached the steps descending to the small gate in the wall. They were narrow; he ushered her down in front of him keeping a protective hand on her back as she descended. It was unnecessary, he knew, but... he almost couldn't bear to _not_ touch her, now.

Mary was concentrating too hard on trying to return her breathing to normal, to projecting an image onto herself that would make it appear to anybody they might see that she had fallen over instead of what she had actually done, to have the leisure to consider conversation or even take much notice of him - the inescapable feel of his warm body against hers and her hand in his arm was enough. However, as she preceded him down the steps to the gate, she felt something clench round her heart and she stopped, her hand on the metal bars, and looked back at him. On the outside was the world. It seemed suddenly to her that they were leaving wonderland - as they had to, of course, and she could not bear it. Biting her lip, she raised her eyes to his.

"Matthew... I..." She did not know what she wanted to say, except that she could not leave without saying something.

His hand rested lightly at the top of her back still as she turned round and met his eyes. Somehow, he felt as though he knew exactly what she meant. He took a breath and pressed his lips into a smile, dipping his head in a simple nod.

"Yes, I... I know."

Gently he rubbed his hand across her back, wishing it could linger there once they were... back. In company. How would he bear it? He sighed lightly and, on a sudden whim, pressed a swift kiss to her cheek before dropping his hand.

Mary closed her eyes, taking in the newly familiar feel of his face close to hers, her awareness of him prickling. Reaching out she clasped his wrist for a moment, unable to resist touching him any longer, and then let her hand slide away. It was over in a moment, her stomach fluttering once more. She quickly turned and pulled open the gate and slipped through it, and waited for him on the path at the bottom of the steps, admiring the fit of his jacket and the way it stretched over his shoulders as he turned to close the gate and remembering what it felt to touch and clasp at those shoulders. Then she realised what she was thinking and quickly turned away, staring through the gaps in the houses below to the glimpses of sea, without seeing any of it at all.

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><p><em>AN: Thank you for reading; we really hope you enjoyed it and would love to hear what you think. Until next Monday..._


	6. Chapter Five

A/N: _Greetings! We're so sorry for missing last Monday, and we love this chapter so much, that we're posting it early. We really do love it. It's Silvestria's "favourite bit of everything" that we've written so far. We love it. Got that? Yeah. _

_We're also thrilled that you enjoyed the last chapter so much! If you thought that was hot - well. *spoilers*_ _We're very touched and very appreciative of all your comments. Thank you._

_Happy Saturday!_

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><p>Previously on <em>Consequences of the Castle<em>:

_She quickly turned and pulled open the gate and slipped through it, and waited for him on the path at the bottom of the steps, admiring the fit of his jacket and the way it stretched over his shoulders as he turned to close the gate and remembering what it felt to touch and clasp at those shoulders. Then she realised what she was thinking and quickly turned away, staring through the gaps in the houses below to the glimpses of sea, without seeing any of it at all._

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><p><strong>Chapter Five<strong>

Matthew began to walk down the path, but only got a few steps before he realized that she wasn't following. Turning round, he saw her staring out towards the sea. He wondered fleetingly what was going through her mind - how much her thoughts reflected his.

"Mary," he said quietly, walking the few steps back towards her and touching her elbow. "Shall we walk?"

Now he wasn't sure what to do, what contact was appropriate - they had shattered the normal social boundaries and he felt a surreal duality. He stepped back again, re-establishing some distance, clenched his hands agitatedly by his side and waited.

She had been distracted by nothing at all. Startled, she turned round to him.

"Of course."

She hesitated, wondering whether to take his arm again, but he was not offering it and perhaps that was better. She had been all too aware of it before. So she gave him a weak smile and started down the path, clasping her hands together behind her back. She glanced at him every now and then as they walked, trying not to be too obvious. She was so aware of every inch of space between them. The desire to simply wrap her arms around him and nestle against his neck and not move for a very long time remained with her in all its glorious, terrifying impossibility. It occurred to her now that there was nowhere for either of them to go. Matthew, after all, was not likely to disappear to Turkey in a few days time. Good Lord, she thought, hit by the realisation over again, it was _Matthew. _And only a few hours ago they had been so cold to each other, so mean. Her thoughts became more and more troubled.

Before long, having walked in a semi-comfortable silence (Matthew really still didn't know what on earth he was supposed to say to her now), they reached the busier sea front. As the first people had passed them, Matthew had held his breath. Of course they couldn't know... But he felt as though it was so obvious, so blindingly clear, and he only released his breath once they were safely past. It was ridiculous! Trying to break the atmosphere between them, fearing otherwise they'd never speak again, he smiled and pointed out to her the bathers looking miserable and freezing in the frothing waves - they looked so absurd!

Mary could not help feeling very self-conscious as she walked through town, not that she looked different because of what she had done (she had got over _that_ fear a long time ago) but because of her bedraggled state of dress. That, she felt sure, would provoke some comment, and it was very hard to respond to Matthew's comments about the bathers. What was he doing that for? Was she meant to care?

Reaching the tea shop, which looked very warm and inviting, was a relief. This released itself in Matthew's gentle sigh, as he opened the door with the sharp ring of the bell and ushered her into the welcoming warmth. There were only two other people, a pair of elderly ladies, in there and the lady of the house bustled up to them, giving Mary a rather sharp look. Fortunately, the necessity of interaction roused her.

After Matthew had asked for a table for two, she gave the waitress her most charming smile and said, "I am afraid I met with something of an accident at the castle. Is there a washroom where I can clean up?"

On being directed with sympathy to the back of the building, she left gratefully without a backward glance, though not so fast that she did not hear the waitress say to Matthew as she handed him the menu card, "Your poor wife! I hope she is not badly shaken?"

His wife! Matthew's cheeks burnt and he was sure that he flushed scarlet. At the very least he floundered for a moment, his mouth opening and closing as he desperately recovered his composure.

"Oh not at all, she... she is quite alright, thank you." He tried to smile but was shaking and his pulse was rapid. "Just a small - accident - nothing serious."

The words tripped off his tongue and he felt oddly reassured. She had believed their tale. Maybe they could do this, after all. With an overly bright smile, he followed the waitress' gesture and went to sit down, choosing a table as far removed into the corner as he could. He sat down and tapped at the table in restless unease as he waited for Mary to come back, staring blankly at the menu.

Mary tugged off her hat as soon as she entered the washroom and almost ran to the mirror, staring at her reflection, wide eyed. It was not, after all, as bad as it could be. She would not be able to repair herself very effectually without Anna, but she was able to scrape her hair back into a bun and pin it tolerably well. She then splashed her face with water and scrubbed it dry until it was red and clean. She felt fresher, calmer, and cooler. She was in the washroom less than five minutes, but eventually she took a breath, looked at her reflection (much the same as it always was which, in some ways, was rather disappointing), squared her shoulders, tried out a smile until she was satisfied, and then returned to their table in the corner. Matthew was staring hard at the menu when she slipped into the seat opposite him.

"Is it very fascinating?" she asked him lightly, though her heart pounded with the effort.

He glanced up sharply as she spoke. His expression had been taut and drawn with a nervous unease, but as soon as his eyes met hers it softened. Smiling gently, he allowed his eyes to trace over her features. She looked just the same, the same Mary; his intriguing, intoxicating cousin Mary… yet she appeared to him completely different now, affected and He suddenly realised he'd been staring at her without saying anything for too long and blinked, moistening his lips.

"Not very," he said quietly. "You - you look perfectly normal!" He wasn't sure why he sounded so surprised.

She could not help laughing softly at this, the sound seeming foreign to her ears. When was the last time she had laughed with Cousin Matthew? (When was the last time she had laughed?) No, she could not call him 'cousin' now! Not even in her mind.

"I'm very glad to hear it!" she replied, reaching out to pick up the other menu, and ignoring the possibility that she could easily have placed her hand over his in the process. She looked down and suddenly realised that she was ravenously hungry, as well as thirsty. She also realised that it was much later than she had thought. If they were not already missing dinner, then they would be very late, depending how long they spent here. The prospect of returning to the hotel and her family was not an enticing one.

"Are - are you going to eat anything?" she asked him, without raising her eyes from the line that announced toasted, buttered teacakes. They sounded like heaven.

His eyes shifted to her from his study of the menu, taking the opportunity while her gaze was down to relish looking at her unobserved. She was beautiful, so beautiful, and he had kissed her and felt her and... The loud grumble of his stomach jolted his thoughts back to the present, and he returned his attention to the menu.

"I think I better had!" he muttered, raising his eyebrows. "Some soup, I think," he pondered. "And tea. I'm parched."

With that settled, he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, enjoying the idea of them out for a small meal together. He wasn't sure they had ever done this, now that he thought about it. He could get used to it.

Soup? Oh good! Perhaps they could miss dinner altogether. She felt tolerably certain she could fake a limp to explain it. Of course her parents would be worried... She was not very bothered. She had made love to Matthew in a castle: her mother wondering why she was late to dinner seemed terribly insignificant. She put her own menu down and dared to look at him.

"I shall have tea too. And some teacakes."

She wondered if it would be possible to ask for two portions and decided it would not be. She folded her hands in front of her and lapsed into silence again. But what on earth could they say?

Seeing she had made her decision, Matthew twisted round to catch the eye of their waitress, who swiftly came across. Matthew ordered for both of them, smiling his thanks before turning his attention back to Mary. He shifted slightly in his chair and rested an arm on the table. The silence seemed to stretch for hours, though really it couldn't have been more than a few seconds.

He opened his mouth to speak then closed it quickly again, wondering if he should... But why should he not? There was no reason not to, in fact it seemed silly not to considering their actions... Oh dear Lord, he had to say something! It would do. He shyly raised his eyes to hers and his lips quirked upwards.

"It might be superfluous to say now, Mary, but -" he hesitated, blinking. For goodness sake, he had given himself up entirely to her against the wall of a castle; then he could say this, surely! He took a small breath. "I think you are quite beautiful," he almost whispered, his eyes sparkling gently.

As he started speaking, she looked up and met his eyes curiously. He seemed to struggle with whatever he wanted to say and her heart beat fast suddenly in fear of - well, there were a great many things he could say, topics he could introduce now that she would not know how to deal with. But this? She had been called beautiful before, but by Matthew now - it felt as if everybody else had been lying and only he had the right or ability to say so. Her whole countenance softened into something more pleased than a smile and she swallowed. The atmosphere was far too intense.

"Ah," she replied eventually, her lips twitching slightly. "I rather thought you did!" Then she added, "I am glad I was not mistaken on that point. I'm afraid I have been on many others."

This came out more serious than she had meant and she looked away.

All the tension seemed to flow out of him at her response and he smiled bashfully at the table.

"You see, I said that I feared I had made my feelings rather obvious," he said lightly. Something about her last comment struck him though, and he pressed her a little on it. "I hope," he spoke sincerely, "that you have not be mistaken on any point regarding my... my regard for you, Mary."

She looked back at him in silence and then finally said with deceptive calmness, "Your regard, as you call it, has not been so obvious as you think. You seem to forget how we stand - how we stood to each other until only a few hours ago."

Leaning back, she stopped as the waitress arrived with the tea and when she went, Mary occupied herself with the mundane task of pouring and adding milk for them both.

Matthew's eyes dropped to the table. She was right, he knew.

"Yes, of course." He paused a moment, then spoke with more resolve. "I'm sorry, Mary, I acted like a terrible stubborn prig, I know. I don't know why I… Actually I do know why, it was out of frustration, but you did not deserve the brunt of it and I'm sorry." He stopped to take a few shallow breaths, feeling unsettled at the sudden honesty between them. "I hope... I hope that you are no longer mistaken on that point."

He raised his eyes to hers, gazing intently at her. Surely she could not doubt his regard now! Even if he had only just admitted it to himself - it was there, it was blatant.

Mary had not expected him to apologise at all, let alone so completely and for what she knew was not his fault. She covered her surprise by sipping her tea. It was too hot and scalded her tongue but its reassuring normality was just what she needed to distract herself from the surreality of their conversation.

"Well," she said lowering her cup, "I have been frustrated too."

For her, it was a great acknowledgement and a part of her hoped he realised this, and everything that she was saying within the sentence. Another part hoped he realised nothing at all, and it was this that made her add, with a little shrug, "But you know me, Matthew, you should hardly expect me to be consistent in my behaviour at any time!"

He watched her carefully as she spoke. She was always so cryptic! He felt a little flutter of panic at her admission to lack of consistency; he knew it, yes, all too well. He tried to quell the niggling worry that her warmth towards him, such a short time ago, might be similarly inconsistent now.

"I should not in your behaviour, no, but - can I presume what you feel to be so?" He raised his eyebrows.

She opened her mouth and closed it again. Then she said very quietly and looking at the table, "I don't know what I feel, Matthew, and I don't think you can expect me to. Not now anyway."

"What do you mean?" he asked bluntly, not quite looking at her, blinking as he looked instead now at the table, at the ground, out of the window. He wasn't at all sure that was what he'd wanted to hear. A frustration was beginning to bubble within him out of fear, or shame, or something - he tried to latch on to her declaration of 'not now' as a positive indication, but could not shake the feeling in his gut.

His teacup rattled in its saucer and he quickly raised it to his lips, taking a distracted sip.

"What do I mean?" she cried in astonishment a little louder than she intended and then leaned forward to whisper, "Matthew, how-" She broke off as the smiling waitress presented her with her teacakes and Matthew with his soup. As soon as she had left, she leaned forward again and started, "I'm not sure what you want me to say, Matthew! We have been at each other's throats for weeks now, we've been barely civil and now-" She took a deep breath and continued in an even lower voice, "- now we are lovers!" She forced herself to look at him. "I hardly think now is the best time to be objective about how I feel!"

She looked back down at her plate and realised that she had been crumbling bits of teacake as she spoke, and hastily nibbled on a piece that remained intact.

To hear her say the words aloud struck Matthew deeply in his core, and he swallowed as heat began to ripple through him, beyond that caused by his tea. His eyes fixed upon her fingers and lips as she picked at her teacake, lingering for a moment before he soundly rebuked himself. He could not go on like this, could not feel such perpetual longing simply because they had made love once! He swallowed again, blinking rapidly. She'd said they were lovers. He couldn't grasp the thought. He took a deep breath to calm himself and raised his eyes to hers. He rested both arms on the table, realising that it brought his hand to hover tantalisingly close to hers.

"We... we are?" he asked somewhat stupidly. "To have made -" He dropped his voice to a whisper and leaned closer. "To have made love once, does that make us – lovers?"

She had no idea what she imagined he could reply, but it was not what he did. She stared at him, her lips parting in surprise, and a little bubble of laughter arose in her, even as she felt an unexpected stab of desire (again? Surely not!) at hearing the words, the statement of their relationship pronounced by him in his crisp, rather breathless tone.

"Oh, Matthew," she replied with fond remonstrance, "How else would you define the word?"

He gave a little, breathless smile, still leaning in closely to her.

"I don't know, I... suppose I had never thought of it before." He'd never thought of it before, but now he was and… Oh Lord, he wanted to kiss her again! He knew he should sit back and begin his soup, but... it was too hot still anyway. Every thought spilling through his head was making him feel too hot. He cleared his throat. "I suppose that - to declare ourselves lovers would imply a certain - repetition, or regularity, of the act of love."

To be speaking of love with her, the act of love, the passionate, heated, heady wonder of making love to her - his breath caught in surprise at himself and he did lean back then, raising his soup spoon to his lips and blowing softly to cool it.

Her eyes widened. Was he suggesting what she thought he was suggesting? _Matthew_? Who had said he had never even done it before? She felt she ought to feel offended, and indeed she was. It was a scandalous thing to imply to her, and yet... no more shocking than what they had already done. Even thinking about it conjured images of what had happened and indeed of what could happen. She flushed and quickly drank more tea, her hand shaking slightly.

"Is that what you want?" she asked quickly, daringly between sips. Goodness knows what she would do when she finished the cup and would be forced to put it down.

Matthew's eyes widened further as he gulped down his soup. His spoon rattled as he returned it to the plate.

"I was not suggesting..!" he stammered uncomfortably. She had asked how he would define it, and that was what he thought! "Don't misunderstand me, Mary, it was - it was -" He closed his eyes and shook his head, unable to express to her in words what it had meant to him. "Quite… indescribably wonderful, but - that does not mean we must, or should - do it again!"

It would be quite impossible. Wouldn't it? His mind began to tick over.

Mary swallowed the rest of her cup of tea in one go. She recognized what she felt as disappointment and resented the reaction deeply. It was this irritation against herself that made her ask directly, with more calmness than she felt, "If we are not lovers, then, what are we?"

She met his eye courageously, telling herself that it was simple: an important and matter-of-fact issue that needed resolving.

His soup spoon hovered halfway to his lips as he was stumped by her straightforward question. He glared at it, as if it were to blame.

"I don't know," he said simply. "I'm not saying that... that I wouldn't _want_ to, again, rather that -" he pursed his lips in frustration at his inability to express himself. How could he possibly? "It's rather that... there is no obligation between us." He frowned, torn between his desire and his sense.

Mary's treacherous heart leapt at the intimation that he might want to make love again. It had been quite simply the most brilliant and wondrous experience of her life and to imagine it repeated, perhaps in a more comfortable setting than against a castle wall outside - soft pillows, a warm fire... Unconsciously, her eyes flickered down to his lip before she blinked and shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

This was ridiculous. They might have made love once and, goodness, she could hardly pretend to herself she did not want to repeat it, but that was quite another thing from actually doing so! First and foremost she was Mary Crawley and to continue such an affair would be impossible. Or was it? She had taken two lovers now. Her virtue was quite comprehensively ruined. Had she not better enjoy her ruin, since if it came out she doubted she would have any other pleasures?

Her voice was tight and sounded distant when she replied, "I'm glad there is no obligation. That would have been an unfortunate misunderstanding between us indeed."

Matthew lowered his eyes and sighed. This was impossible. What were they to do? It seemed unthinkable, would be unbearable, to go back to how things were before. Now that he knew how she was, how she felt and had enjoyed her fully in the throes of passion, he knew that he could not go back - yet to continue seemed equally unthinkable. He simply couldn't. One solution seemed to slowly crystallise in his mind. He tried to ignore it, it seemed too monumental, but... was it any more monumental, any more ridiculous, than what they had already done? Indeed, it seemed absolutely the only thing _to_ do, now.

"Mary," he spoke quietly, an edge of sincerity to his voice though it trembled slightly. "There is - there is something we could do..." He licked his lips and looked deeply into her eyes, heart fluttering at the realisation that he wanted it. "If you were to… marry me."

She supposed she was only surprised at how long it had taken him to ask her. Matthew was a decent person and such people did not make love to gently brought up ladies without proposing marriage. That he had not immediately blurted it out in panic raised him in Mary's estimation. Still, his motivation for asking was far from clear and she was too well aware that every reason she had previously had for not marrying him still stood. Why did they matter any more though? To marry him whatever his reasons was more than she could expect from anybody now and it would mean security for life, getting what both she and her parents had always wanted and- and the possibility of such delightful repetitions of this afternoon. Yet still she hesitated and did not quite feel able to answer this question of its importance to her.

What she finally said, looking at him quite openly and anxiously, was, "Why? Do you think it your duty to propose to me now?"

"No!" he exclaimed, more forcefully than he meant to. He glanced around him, worried that they were attracting attention, and leaned across the table towards her. Without really thinking about it he placed his hand on hers and grasped it between trembling fingers.

"It is not out of duty, it is out of..." he searched for the appropriate word, "...respect. Not because we should because of what we have done, but because it would allow a... proper means for us to - continue." He gasped slightly as he realised what he had just admitted. He swallowed and dipped his head a fraction, gazing deeply at her. There didn't seem any point in hiding it any more. "Because I - I would like to, Mary."

Mary clenched her fist under his hand. It was so warm and his physical presence and his intense stare seemed to engulf her all over, but even this reminder of their closeness felt somewhat hollow now. She could not do it. Respect was hardly different from duty, it seemed to her, and neither seemed good reasons for marriage, or at least good reasons for marriage to _him_. She pulled her hand away and shivered miserably at the loss of contact.

"I can't marry you. I wish I could. I wish there was a way we could cont-" She broke off and shook her head, banishing that sentence before it was finished, and desperately searched for excuses, anything but the truth of her disappointment in his reply. "We agree on nothing, we are cruel to each other, we cannot maintain a civilised conversation most of the time - and it would be so - so neat." Her eyes drifted away from his at this very real pang and reminder of their respective situations. "I - I'm sorry I can't make things tidy for you, and I'm sorry that my situation now means you feel obliged to try to save me," (she was warming to her lies now), "but we would make each other terribly unhappy, I think!"

Matthew's eyes drifted closed a moment in resignation, as he drew his hand back to his lap. In truth, he had not really expected her to say yes - it seemed so sudden, so mad, considering their attitude only that morning - but didn't she want it? He pursed his lips and thought very carefully about what to say. Not so much to persuade her, as to address her seemingly dreadful opinion of him!

"Obliged to save you? Make things tidy for me?" He shook his head almost sadly. "Mary, I... I _want_ to. You say we would make each other unhappy -" He paused and moistened his lips before looking very seriously at her. "Were you unhappy this afternoon?"

Her eyes widened and for a moment she could not breathe. Unhappy? She was not sure she had ever felt more blissfully happy in all her life. For a second, her emotion at the memory crossed her face.

"No," she breathed, "I - I was not unhappy." Her insides twisted and she continued with a more pleading tone, "But that sort of thing is not everything, you know! Do you think that everything can be resolved so easily?"

He let out the breath he had unconsciously been holding. He felt at last as though they were speaking openly. He was oblivious to the situation around them, forgetting that they were in a very public place and that his soup was getting cold but nothing else seemed to matter.

"I know - I know. And no, I imagine you're right - not easily. I think, though, that so much of our squabbling was due to misunderstandings and stubbornness, and... I do think we could be happy. I do. You... are incredibly important to me, Mary - not out of duty - you of all people should know that! No, I... I _want_ to."

She sighed and leaned back in her chair, gently wiping her buttery fingers on her napkin. Somehow nothing of what he was saying was having the effect it ought to have on her. He _wanted_ to; she was _important_ to him. She heard the words but did not feel the emotion she felt she ought to feel considering what they had shared. It was very confusing.

"Then what do you suggest, Matthew? I have to be sure, you see!"

He smiled weakly. "Good. I would hate for you to say you would marry me if you weren't sure!" It wasn't really 'good', but it was better than nothing he supposed. He wasn't even really sure himself. He gave a small sigh. "I shan't pressure you, Mary. Shall we wait a little while and see if we can manage to get on a little better, now that we have - clarified some things?" He clutched nervously at his cutlery. "Only in the meantime, know that - that I would very much like to. Because..." he sighed again. He hated exposing himself but it seemed that he had little to lose now anyway. "Because you do make me happy. And I have never felt more - more complete, than I did this afternoon, with you. And when you are sure, you may answer me."

He was either deluding himself or mad if he thought she actually made him happy! She was not sure she had been truly kind to him once in their entire acquaintance. No, that was not fair, but the occasions had been few and far between. But he was gentle and reasonable and was winning her over more than she cared to acknowledge.

"I promise you I shall," she replied with a faint smile. She hesitated and then leaned across the table and briefly squeezed his hand. Her lips twisted into a small smile. "Mama will be pleased if we are more civil to one another!" she observed, releasing his hand. "She does not waste any opportunities to tell me I must be nicer to you; I do not think she will believe it if I am!"

Matthew chuckled a little at her lighter tone, reassured by her touch on his hand. His eyes stared distractedly at the table; he felt so strange. So many unfamiliar feelings had shocked him today, and he was feeling quite drained suddenly.

"Well," he said quietly with a gentle, shy smile. "I don't know, perhaps it might be best that she doesn't believe it!"

Mary watched him in silence for a moment, the smile still hovering on her lips at his unusual diffidence. It was a new side to him and, in a gentle, fond way it amused her. Then, glancing outside and seeing that it was now very definitely dusk, she sat back.

"The other thing she will not believe is whatever we could have been doing for so long! I am afraid they will be worried, Matthew."

She spoke calmly but she was aware of a certain reluctance to leave. She was really not looking forward to their return. Perhaps she would go straight to bed... only she was so hungry. She had hardly eaten any of the teacake, only crumbled it.

His eyes shifted to follow her gaze to the window. The time had completely passed him by; he had lost all concept of it.

"Yes, I'm afraid they will. I suppose we'd better start making our way back. Once we're there and they can see nothing - untoward - has happened, I'm sure it'll be fine. You really couldn't help falling over..!"

He grinned slightly in what he hoped was a reassuring way - he really felt terrified of returning. If only they could stay here, in this companionable silence, with the knowledge of what they'd shared - he felt as though it must be buried in the face of their family, and he couldn't bear the thought.

She raised one eyebrow, returning his grin, and murmured mischievously, "No, I don't suppose I could!"

For a moment her eyes darkened and she felt a strange pang and wonder at how easy it was to respond to him, whether in anger, amusement or... well, other ways too! The realisation bothered her a great deal and she quickly looked away, frowning, and beckoned the waitress over for the bill.

Matthew swallowed at the teasing intonation in her voice; his lips curling into a sly smile. Her intimation was unnervingly right - it was as if he hadn't been able to help himself. He wondered back over it - could he have stopped? He really wasn't sure that he could. Even if he could have - would he have? Would he have wanted to? His gut fluttered a little at the dangerous realisation, how he had fallen so easily... And really couldn't bring himself to be sorry for it. Not for himself, anyway. The appearance of the waitress shook him from this reverie and he glanced up with a polite smile, taking his wallet from his pocket and passing over enough for their food and a tip. His eyes met Mary's as he did so - he quite enjoyed the feel of taking her out, treating her. He'd like to do it more, he thought. He smiled brightly, overly so - bracing himself to leave this warm haven and return to reality.

"Are you ready?"

While Matthew paid the bill, Mary fixed her hat, moved to draw on her gloves, remembered that they were ruined and probably lost on the headland somewhere, blushed, and concealed her bare hands under the table. Then she smiled at him and stood up.

"Of course. I hope it is not too cold outside."

Then she thanked the waitress with perfectly controlled smile and politeness, and preceded him out of the cafe where the evening air was somewhat unpleasant - clammy and warm with a chilly breeze blowing off the sea. Mary clutched her hat instinctively and shivered.

Stepping out into the dim, chill evening was an unpleasant contrast to the warmth of the cafe. Matthew saw her shiver and longed to put an arm around her - but settled instead for a hand at her elbow. He sighed inwardly, wondering if he could ever be satisfied now to be near her and _not_ touch her, even in such a small way as this.

"At least it'll be good to get back into the warmth!" he chirped, trying desperately to see a positive in it. He set off at a brisk walk, the exertion and the cold air driving out the turmoil of his thoughts. How could they just slot back into their family circle, now? It seemed unthinkable. He walked a little quicker.

Mary tried to keep up with him for several minutes as he ploughed on at a cracking pace along the front, the sea murmuring darkly on their left. But she could not maintain it. She was dreadfully tired and resting for a while had only made her more aware of it. Moreover, her muscles felt even more sore than they would normally even after a long walk.

Clutching her sides, she cried out, "Matthew, please! You cannot be so desperate to return as all that!" and stopped walking.

Her cry rang in his ears and he stopped abruptly, turning back to face her. "Sorry," he smiled apologetically. "Believe me, desperate to return is entirely the opposite of what I'm feeling - I think I just want to get it over with." His eyes cast over her as he noticed her discomfort. Swiftly, he moved to stand by her. "Here; lean on me," he murmured and looped her arm through his.

"I suppose," he smiled mischievously, "you require some support after your fall!"

She felt her heart flutter as he took her arm and she presently found that she really was leaning on him. She felt more exhausted than she could remember being in a long time. She glanced up at him.

"Yes... I find I am quite exhausted from it."

They continued along the front at a more steady pace, Mary thinking mostly about how much she ached and wanted a bath and her bed and how comfortable it would be if only Matthew - She squashed this fantasy with difficulty, but suddenly found herself turning to him and saying curiously, "Do you - do you feel different? That is, you said you never-"

She blushed and fell silent as the intimacy of her question hit her full on.

Matthew glanced quickly at her and away again, blushing deeply. Such a question! Of course he felt different, in so many ways...

"I - well - yes," he eventually said quietly, eyes fixed on the ground in front of his feet. "I don't know. I suppose... It's hard to explain, really."

He did; but on a far deeper level than physically, and he was fairly sure it was more to do with _her_ than the simple act of having done it. But how could he describe that to her? "Do you?" he deflected, uncomfortable to speak of it.

She covered his arm with her other hand as well, feeling a sudden desire to be closer to him, perhaps because she knew that soon she could not be.

"Yes," she replied simply after a brief pause. "Of course I do."

She remembered now almost telling him that she was not a virgin. She wondered if he recollected these words, or even knew instinctively. After all, it should have hurt her if she had been. She did not particularly want to bring that up now, however. And she did feel different anyway.

He looked across at her, touched in some way by the straightforwardness of her tone. He looked ahead again and pursed his lips, then took a breath.

"I wouldn't change it, you know. If we could go back to... to before." He glanced across at her with a small smile. "I'm - pleased for it."

Mary did not know how to reply to that though she found herself lightly squeezing his arm in sympathy. She caught his gaze as he looked at her and held it and felt warmed all the way through just from his expression. She could not imagine Kemal ever having looked at her like that, had he lived, and her insides twisted again. She moistened her dry lips and looked quickly away over the dark sea.

Though she didn't say anything, he caught the flicker of meaning in her gaze and smiled a little wider. They walked on in a mostly comfortable silence. It would have seemed strange to talk of ordinary, everyday things. It would be meaningless. Soon they passed the end of the promenade and continued on along the path, the buildings growing fewer and fewer until there were none at all. Between the sparse street lamps, dim shadows fell and spread in the dusk. The air was damp and clinging, the odd raindrop splattered on the ground from the heavy clouds. Realising that they were quite alone, Matthew daringly, and without a word, slipped his arm snugly around Mary's shoulders.

Their steps were loud in the silence of this stretch of the path. Normally there were people out at this time of the evening, but the unpleasant weather seemed to have kept them inside that night. There was nobody else about and when Matthew put his arm round her shoulders, she was not as surprised as she felt she ought to have been. In fact, it felt like the most natural thing in the world and she leaned into him, her body seeming to fit against his quite as if they walked thus all the time. She sighed gently. Her arm was now trapped between them and, purely for expedience, she slid it round his waist and curved it up to rest gently against his back. With a flash of insight, she imagined how they might have appeared to a passer by: a pair of lovers, strolling out and quite ignoring the gentle rain. She pressed her eyes shut and then stared out over the bay at the winking light of a fishing boat. It seemed to shift and blur as she looked at it and she blinked several times until it was clear again.

Matthew smiled to himself as her arm curled around him. It felt right, so wonderfully right. He rubbed his arm over her back, warming her, before squeezing her shoulder gently. Despite the cold air and the rain he felt warm and perfectly content. He was already aching at the thought of returning to the hotel and into society and company - he really didn't want any company, he thought, aside from her.

"Are you warm enough?" he asked, feeling her shiver slightly. "We can walk a little faster if you wish?"

She had not shivered from cold. In fact, she was feeling decidedly warm. She felt suspended in limbo. As soon as they reached the hotel, she would have to become Lady Mary again. Part of her longed for the familiarity of her usual role and relationships and to get away from all these worrying new feelings, but at the same time she could not remember ever feeling so comfortable, peaceful and safe before and she did not want the walk to end.

"If you wish to walk faster, then you will have to carry me!" she replied with a half-smile and a little flick of her eyebrows. "I am not very cold." And as if to illustrate her point, she rubbed his back slightly.

He smiled, tingling at her touch, when an urge struck him suddenly. He stopped, allowing his hand to slide across her back to catch her elbow, stopping her and pulling her back to face him. She shivered again uncontrollably and felt a wave of impossibly strong longing wash over her.

"Mary -" he murmured quietly and sincerely. His hands traced up and down her arms softly. "I don't want to walk faster - in fact, I want to walk as slowly as possible, though I imagine it'd be a little impractical - I want -"

He trailed off, his lips closing and parting a tiny amount. His voice on its own, low and intense, was enough to make her weak-kneed. How she wanted him! His eyes flicked warmly across her face, and on a sudden whim he leaned forwards and pressed his lips to hers. It was only brief - sweet, tender, warm - and his hand rose to her face, his thumb brushing across her cheek.

As Matthew kissed her she swayed towards him, feeling it in every inch of her body. How strange that such a light, simple touch could cause such a reaction! She clutched at his hand against her cheek when he pulled away and breathed, "Oh, Matthew..."

She did not know what to say, for she was reacting quite instinctively, letting herself go as she never had before. Well, not since earlier that day. She could not explain herself in words, so she leaned forwards and kissed him, a chaste kiss, but a firm, sure, and lingering one, before reluctantly pulling away and looking up to meet his eyes again.

His shallow breaths seemed loud in the evening air. He blinked at her, staring at her lips and her eyes and where his hand was caught on her cheek. Licking his lips, he lifted his other hand to clasp her face gently. He felt pleasantly dazed, a warmth spreading through him that was very different to the heat of pure need he had felt earlier. It was softer, gentler, but just as pervasive. Hearing his name breathed upon her lips sent a gentle, delicious shiver through him. He swallowed, then quite unconsciously breathed, "Darling Mary...", then his eyes closed with a soft sigh as he realised he had said it again. He couldn't seem to help it, but she was so darling to him like this and he...

He blinked and looked away, up the path. His hands dropped from her face, but he placed one gently again on her back as he turned away. Without meeting her eyes, he said in a slightly stronger voice, "Come, we must get back - your parents must be terribly worried by now."

His tone was strained, unusually low. They must return - his heart was pounding at his lack of control when left alone with her. It wouldn't possibly do!

Her heart tightened and she trembled even more. She could not- did not want to analyse the way he made her feel, so she was glad when he was the one to end the interlude.

"Of course," she replied briefly, and then turned to resume walking, not daring to take his arm again. After a few moments, she sighed, and then said quietly, "I am really terribly tired. If – if I go straight to my room, will you find Mama and explain that I have gone to bed?" She glanced up at him. "It would mean a lot if you would."

He smiled tightly at her. "Yes, of course." His voice and his eyes were a lot softer than his smile, warm and reassuring. "I don't really blame you, it's been quite an - exerting day!" His smile softened into mischief and his eyes twinkled.

Finally they reached the hotel. Matthew stood to the side as she entered the lobby then followed her in. He stood for a moment, savouring the warmth and the bustle and the comforting knowledge that he could retire to his room in only a few minutes. Mary paused too, letting the bright lights and the luxury and modernity of it soak into her skin. She released her breath, returned the boy at the reception's greeting with a thin smile and finally turned back to Matthew.

He raised his eyebrows and looked at her.

"I'll see you to your door. It wouldn't do to be so unchivalrous as to allow you to go alone, after the afternoon you've had!"

She raised her eyebrows at him in return. "That is very kind of you, Matthew."

Her voice sounded distant and hollow to her own ears and she felt her heart sink somewhat. They were back. She spun round and made for the stairs.

Matthew followed her, dragging his feet a little. Every step brought them closer to separation, to going back to being Lady Mary and Cousin Matthew to everyone once more. He simmered a little indignantly at it. Why did it have to be like this? But of course it must. He glanced around as he followed, subconsciously taking in the route.

At her door, Mary turned round, her hand on the knob. She had to say something, though by now her desire to sink down onto her bed and call for Anna to run her a bath was her most powerful emotion. Still.

Hardly meeting his eyes, she held out her hand and said matter-of-factly, "Thank you. I'm much obliged to you."

The mask that was back in place did not quite extend to her eyes which pleaded with him, or to her voice which trembled on the last few words.

They were back... Lips twitching gently, he took her ungloved hand.

"You're welcome, of course." His voice was low and tremulous. "Goodnight, Mary."

He moistened his lips, battling the warm urge to kiss her again - such a natural action, now! - and instead simply squeezed her hand gently, allowing the touch to linger a moment longer than necessary. His eyes never left hers. As he drew his hand back, her fingers slid against his in a last thrill of contact. He took a deep breath and stepped back, lips quirking into the softest smile.

She would have to work hard at resisting him, she realised. She blinked at him and replied softly and gravely, "Goodnight, Matthew."

His hand dropped from hers but her fingers still tingled as she turned and disappeared into her room, almost collapsing against the door as soon as she shut it.

Matthew stood for a short while, just staring at her door. He couldn't process it all, he was too tired, too drained, too - stupefied by all that had happened. Shaking his head slightly, he turned and set off in search for Lady Grantham as she had asked – his stomach churning with dread at the prospect of that conversation.

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><p>AN: _There we are! We very much hope you enjoyed it and would love to know what you thought - reviews make our day! Thanks!_


	7. Chapter Six

_A/N: Thank you as ever for your lovely reviews (and speculation heee) and your enthusiasm for this story. We apologise for missing last week. Basically, every chapter of the first part of this story was already written... apart from this one that we just needed to "fill in at some point". Well, that took quite a long time! Anyway, it's here now and we hope you enjoy! :)_

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><p><span>Previously on <span>_Consequences of the Castle:_

_His hand dropped from hers but her fingers still tingled as she turned and disappeared into her room, almost collapsing against the door as soon as she shut it._

_Matthew stood for a few moments staring at her door. He couldn't process it all, he was too tired, too drained, too - stupefied by all that had happened. Shaking his head slightly, he turned and set off in search for Lady Grantham as she had asked - he was not looking forward to that conversation!_

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><p><strong>Chapter Six<strong>

As he made his way through the hotel towards the distant noise and activity of the drawing room, Matthew's mind was in a whirl. He'd run over and over in his mind what he might say, how he could excuse things – it was really very simple: they'd been out, lost track of time – no, that was a poor excuse, why would they have lost track of time? Mary had slipped – they'd thought it best to clean up at the tea shop as it was closer – yes, that would do, and he'd simply have to hope that they didn't press him too hard on it. Really, though, he was most concerned about his own reaction.

Merely thinking about it spread an almost uncomfortably warm glow through him, he felt nearly sick at the thought of facing her family – God, her father! – knowing what they'd done together; his hands felt clammy and he trembled with nervousness. Surely, surely they would be able to see…

Well, he couldn't put it off any longer. Opening the door to the large room, bustling in a quiet sort of way with after-dinner chatter, he scanned around quickly and made his way over to them.

He was still several feet away when Robert noticed him and stood up.

"Matthew, good Lord, where on earth have you been?"

"Do you know where Mary is?" Cora looked anxiously up from her chair.

Matthew took a breath before replying, "I'm terribly sorry, there's no need to worry – Mary's perfectly alright –"

"You've been with her, then?"

Matthew's eyes widened, hoping that he'd only imagined the almost accusatory snip behind Robert's question. It was concern, only concern, he told himself.

"I've - been with her, yes…" The words seemed to stick in his throat and he swallowed uncomfortably. Oh, how he'd been with her… The memory of her before him, against him, around him, sprang unbidden to his mind, and he blinked to clear it. "I happened upon her at the castle a while earlier, and –"

"Then, what have you done with her?" Matthew was sure his cheeks flamed at that. "Has she returned with you?"

"We were about to send out a search party…" Cora worried quietly, and Matthew suspected she was only half joking.

"No, she's perfectly alright, and – look, can I just explain a moment?" he snapped out, determined to follow the path he'd carefully prepared.

A moment, then Robert nodded, and seated himself again. With a tight, acknowledging smile, Matthew did the same, uncomfortably aware of everyone's eyes upon him.

"I apologise for any concern, but there's really no cause for it. I was exploring the castle earlier; Mary walked up and chanced upon me. We were there for a while then Mary – slipped, and we thought it best to stop by a tea shop on our way back to save her walking back here in the state that she was."

"In the state that she was? What does that mean?"

"Please, Cousin Cora, it's nothing at all to worry about," Matthew tried to placate her. "It was – pretty windy and muddy, up on the headland, and the stumble left her looking a touch – dishevelled, that's all." He swallowed uncomfortably. This was torturous. They were staring at him so!

"Dear Mary, was she hurt?" Sybil frowned, sitting forwards in her chair. Matthew coloured even further.

"No, she – was not hurt. No."

"But –" Cousin Cora remained unsatisfied. It was too much.

"It's really quite alright; _she_ is really quite alright! Heavens, it was barely anything at all, I can only apologise again –"

"Why not once more, you seem so intent on it!" Violet chuckled irritably. "Have a care, Matthew, or we might suppose that you were somehow responsible!"

"Now, Mama…" Robert sighed.

A nervous sort of laugh spilled from Matthew's lips. What else could he do? His fingers flexed and curled anxiously against his leg.

"Well, I'm – only very aware of the worry it must have caused. You know Mary, though; she would not walk all the way back to the hotel without at least making sure of things in a mirror, and I'm afraid we simply lost track of the time over tea. But I can assure you, she's quite alright, only very tired – I've just seen her up to her room, she asked me to pass on her apologies."

"Typical of Mary, to only think of appearances…" Edith sighed, slumping back into her chair now that everything seemed to be perfectly boring and normal after all.

"Edith, that's unkind," Cora muttered, seeming to relax a little bit at last. Turning to Matthew, she smiled weakly. Clearly, she'd been worried. "And – you say she's gone straight up to bed?"

"Yes," Matthew repeated, tiring of this now. Such an inquisition! Which, normally, he might not have minded if his gut was not churning with awareness of what they did not know. "We returned only a moment ago, I made sure she got to her room alright then came straight down to tell you."

"Then we must thank you for being so chivalrous!"

Matthew spluttered some sort of dismissive response, shifting uncomfortably. Chivalrous seemed to be… the very least of what he had been! Though – he knew he hadn't pressed her to it – he hadn't, had he? At that moment, he was enormously grateful for his natural modesty that sheltered his embarrassment, but – oh God, he'd shown little of that when he'd taken her against the wall, and – good _Lord_, wouldn't they all stop staring at him?

Beads of sweat prickled at the back of his neck, and forehead. He felt hot, smothered, from their questioning eyes and his own memory of Mary's body, her heat around him – he needed to _stop_! As he pulled his handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his brow (claiming exertion from the walk), he was horrified to see Mary's gloves spill out along with it…

"How strange, aren't those Mary's?" Violet instantly recognised them.

"Yes, I think they are," Sybil nodded, picking them up from where they'd fallen. "Matthew must have – hold on, why _do_ you have them?"

He swallowed. "I – well, she took them off to – clean up, and – must've forgotten them."

"Dear, look at them," Cora took them from Sybil, shaking her head. "Quite ruined…"

"I'm not surprised she didn't put them on again!" Sybil agreed. "There's mud all over them, look, even on the backs… Poor Mary; thank you, Matthew…"

"Yes, well, it really was nothing." Nothing, it had been nothing, it had been… _everything_… How could it be that they did not realise? That mud couldn't possibly have covered them so if she'd simply put her hands out to brace her fall; no, they'd been… dropped carelessly to the ground in passion, trodden on…

"Don't be so silly," Cora smiled warmly at him now her anxiety had finally settled. "And it was so thoughtful of you to take her for tea, afterwards."

Violet sniffed. "What else would a gentleman have done?"

"I quite agree," Robert threw a proud smile at his heir. "You did well to think of it, Matthew."

"Oh, please, I –"

"I won't have you object, my dear," Cora insisted. "You could've easily come straight back, but you didn't. You must have been getting on pretty well to have lost track of the time!"

"That'd be a miracle," Edith laughed humourlessly under her breath.

Matthew swallowed uncomfortably. "No, well, I suppose we – put aside some of our differences, and…" He trailed off into a quiet mutter, unable to bear any more of it. How was he ever to bear polite company with her again, when every word only made him think of her! Of how they'd put aside their differences in a blinding, passionate kiss; of how he'd behaved in a most ungentlemanly manner when he'd lifted her skirts, and… of how they'd dashed aside all thought of propriety, there against that castle wall, as they'd kissed and clutched and moaned and peaked and…

Almost shaking, he rose quickly to his feet. This was unbearable, he had to leave before he gave himself entirely away. "Look, if you'll – excuse me, I'm pretty worn out myself. I'm terribly sorry again, I – hope you'll have a pleasant evening – do excuse me."

He felt as though he were running away. He _was_ running away. He only released the breath he'd been holding when no-one seem to think his departure out of the ordinary, only nodding understandingly and bidding him goodnight.

Robert stood up. "Alright, dear chap. Thank you for letting us know – we'll breakfast at eight, if that suits you?"

"Yes, I'm sure. It really was no trouble. Good evening."

Matthew smiled, and had to hold himself back from breaking into a run, such was his desperation to leave that room and the pressing atmosphere of their concern and questions. By the time he'd reached his room he felt not much better.

He dismissed Molesley immediately. He was perfectly able to – undress himself… _God_. As he climbed into bed, his skin tingling with the memory of her touch, he wondered if he'd ever be able to sleep… or if she'd be able to sleep, thinking of him…

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><p>Mary almost fell against her bedroom door as she shut it behind her, her legs refusing to hold her up any longer. She pressed her hand to her mouth as if expecting to cry as she slid all the way to the ground. No tears came however. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, but they were dry and she was afforded no relief. Next she began to tremble all over, as if she were cold, only she wasn't, not really. She hugged herself and almost sank further onto the floor before some feeling of self-preservation stopped her and she managed to drag herself to her feet and to her bed. Without taking off her shoes or her coat, she collapsed onto the pillows and crawled into a ball.<p>

The arms around her, holding and protecting her, were her own though and it was no longer sufficient. She had felt what it was like to be held by _him _and now she felt his loss as if a part of herself had been wrenched away. Her bed was soft and welcoming but she would have swapped it in an instant for the hardness of the castle wall and one touch from Matthew. Was she to be reduced so quickly to such pathetic dependency? Her face crumpled in self-pity, loss, and exhaustion, but still no tears came. She felt empty of tears, of any kind of emotion that she could express in a familiar way, of everything. There was a profound hollow within herself that only seemed to grow as her imagination filled her with memories and desires and the ghosts of sensations.

How long she lay there curled up in the centre of her bed, her hands clutching the counterpane for dear life, she had no idea, but eventually she relaxed her grip and sat up. Her head swam as she did so and for a moment she felt extremely faint. Then she remembered that she had missed dinner and hardly eaten any of her tea-cakes at the cafe. With a deep breath of resolution she stood up on trembling, heavy legs, crossed to the bell, and pulled it. This seemed effort enough and she sank again onto the stool in front of her dressing table. Leaning on her elbow she took in her appearance. She seemed pale and haunted to her eyes. Her hair was a complete and utter state and her eyes seemed somehow wider and darker.

Anna answered the summons very quickly and her relief at seeing her mistress returned turned swiftly into concern at how ill she seemed. Mary was able to smile inwardly at how little she needed now to pretend to shock and exhaustion as she told her story as best she could. Apart from that, she had never wanted comforting more and her maid seemed to understand; for she helped her out of her clothes, tutted at the state of them in a reassuringly normal way, ordered her a bath and eventually left to fetch her some hot chocolate and biscuits.

On her own again and forced into activity in preparing for her bath, Mary felt some life return to her. Even undressing, however, felt different. Every time her fingers skimmed over her skin, the recollection of his fingers, which had barely touched her, intruded and she shivered involuntarily. Her toes curled on the carpet and she shifted from one foot to the other, testing the ache she felt in her legs and elsewhere. What would it be like to feel his hands on her skin, if it were him peeling back one layer of clothing after another? Her entire body flushed with heat and she almost jumped as Anna re-entered the room with the tray of refreshments.

Mary sank into the bath, leaning back and letting her eyes close. The warm water washed over her and seemed to take away all the stains of the day, literal and imagined, leaving her relaxed and limp.

"Would you like your chocolate in the bath?" Anna asked with a mischievous look and Mary opened her eyes to smile back. She had not had a drink in the bath since she had been a little child. Encouraged, Anna moved a table beside her and put the tray on it, before beginning to pick up her mistress' clothes and get the room in order for bedtime.

In the mean time, Mary ate the biscuits and drank the hot chocolate, wrapping her hands round the mug to absorb as much of the warmth of it as she could. It was sweet and comforting yet as she licked it off her lips, she was suddenly filled with an almost overpowering memory of the feel of Matthew's own lips on hers, of licking them, of his tongue glancing against hers, of his body moving against hers in the most intimate way possible... She had to put the mug down and clutch the side of the bath as a wave of unexpected and uncontrollable desire and longing for him washed over her. Now, too late and completely unreasonably, she began to sob. By the time Anna had rushed over to her and put her hand on her shaking shoulders, Mary had buried her face in her arms on the edge of the tub, crying as she had not cried for as long as she could remember. Not when Patrick had died, not after Pamuk – she had managed to stifle it every time. But now it seemed impossible to hold it back.

"There, there, my lady," murmured Anna rather uselessly and helped her out of the bath, drying her efficiently and unquestioningly as Mary continued to sob, and eventually getting her into bed. Clean and limp and nestled in a soft nightgown, with the blankets all around her, she finally cried herself silent. When she eventually looked up, Anna was still there, sitting by her bed with an expression of the greatest worry and sympathy. Mary felt completely and utterly drained. All she wanted now was the relief and oblivion of sleep for she was able to recognize that there was little point trying to think intelligently about anything that had happened at this stage.

"Shall I get Lady Grantham for you?" asked Anna.

Mary shook her head quickly. "No, don't disturb her. Thank you." It seemed important to thank her for some reason.

"Will your ladyship be alright?"

This kindness felt unbearable but she was too tired to resist it. "Oh yes," she replied with a little, grateful smile. "I shall be alright. I'm only terribly weary and a little – a little overwhelmed."

"Of course you are, my lady. It's lucky you were not more hurt - it must have been a very bad fall. I didn't see any bruises but perhaps they will appear later."

"Perhaps they will," Mary agreed, doubting it very much considering no fall had taken place, but not minding if Anna had this excuse to rely on.

"The consequences of this sort of thing sometimes take a little while to show up, but hopefully you're over the worst now."

"I'm sure I am," she replied, already feeling the effects of a good cry, a hot bath, and sweet food. She stifled a yawn.

Anna seemed happy to leave her now and with a final, anxious look, she curtsied, gathered up Mary's soiled clothing to be washed and mended and left her in peace. Sleep claimed her almost instantly.

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><p>A good night's rest and awakening to a new day can work wonders. Mary woke up on Thursday morning and discovered that the world actually looked much as it had the day before. Heavy rain during the night had given way to a damp but sunny morning. Her muscles no longer ached nor did she feel that alarmingly uncontrolled emotional response that had overwhelmed her the night before. It was almost possible to believe that nothing had happened. Except... that it had.<p>

She knew it had in the way that Anna was very gentle with her and asked her if she was feeling better and in the way that she told her that the hat was already completely restored but the coat would take a little more work once back at Downton. She knew it in the way that her mind drifted to Matthew before anything else as she dressed, as she sat quietly while Anna did her hair, as she prepared to go down for breakfast. She did not think about him in any specific way but he was always intruding in her thoughts. She saw his smile in her mind's eye, relived moments from the previous day in a jumble of memories and feelings and finally wondered what on earth he was thinking. The closer she got to leaving her room, the more nervous she became. Had he passed on the message to her parents the previous night? What had they said? Did he regret what they had done yet? She knew Matthew's sense of honour and propriety and it seemed impossible that he should not. Did she regret them? Her stomach fluttered and she was not quite sure of the answer.

It was all very well saying that they would try to get along better but she was not sure how to go about that. Wouldn't it be obvious to everyone that they were lovers? How could she possibly see him and not be reminded of it? As she entered the breakfast room, she decided that some amount of reserve would be necessary simply to get through it, though she would take her cue from his own behaviour.

The countess was alone and Mary was not sure she was relieved or disappointed not to see Matthew. Cora looked up and smiled as she entered the room.

"How do you feel, dear? Matthew told us what happened last night."

Mary sat down opposite her and felt glad to do so. "Did he? Well, I feel perfectly recovered now."

"I'm so glad to hear it." Her mother hesitated and seemed to be debating whether to say something or not. Mary pretended she was not aware of this and took a roll and began to butter it very nonchalantly. "I hope you and Matthew have taken this opportunity to resolve some of your issues. If I have to spend another day stuck between the two of you and your bickering I really will go mad."

Mary raised her eyes to her mother's. "Yes," she managed to say, "some, I hope." She felt herself to be blushing.

"I hope so too because you've been behaving like such a pair of children. Ah, good morning, Matthew!"

Mary almost dropped her butter knife and twisted immediately in her chair to see him enter the breakfast room. Already she felt a prickle on the back of her neck, just from being aware of his presence in the room.

Matthew had steeled himself the moment he'd seen her upon entering the room, and now, faced with her wide-eyed stare as she caught his glance, he felt his pulse quicken alarmingly just as he'd worried it would. She was there, she was quite real, and he couldn't avoid her or... what they had done. His stomach churned uncomfortably, and he hastily sat down.

"Good morning, Cousin Cora," he smiled quickly at her before pulling his napkin into his lap, and taking some toast. He had barely slept a wink, tossing and turning and reliving and worrying and remembering... "Mary," he greeted her too. His voice shook alarmingly, and he had to look away again almost as soon as he'd glanced at her, feeling his skin tingle with awareness.

"Matthew," she greeted him rather vacantly, her eyes darting all over him.

"Forgive me, I'm - quite ravenous," he muttered as he buttered his toast and took a large bite, followed by a gulp of coffee.

Mary could not help focussing on his lips as he ate and the movement of his throat as he drank. She shifted in her chair and then looked down, forcing herself to concentrate on her breakfast. She wanted to say something, a witticism, some clever remark to break what she perceived as tension, to show that they could be friendly to each other, but she could not think of anything. It fell to her mother to ask how he had slept.

Waiting until he'd swallowed properly, Matthew wiped his lips and made more of an effort to smile at Cora, staring almost fixedly at her as he tried to avoid looking at Mary. He... couldn't, not just yet.

"Not terribly well, I'm afraid," he managed. "But a decent breakfast will fix that!" He smiled more widely, and was sure his hands trembled as he picked up his toast again. "I hope that you did, after your - worry, yesterday evening."

Oh God, why had he said that? He swallowed again and forced his eyes to Mary. He couldn't possibly ignore her entirely, and... well, he did wonder... "And you, Mary, I - hope you're quite recovered from yesterday?"

"Perfectly, thank you," she replied very crisply, forcing herself to look up, but fixing her gaze just to the left of his eyes. "I'm sorry you didn't sleep well."

Her voice sounded flat and peculiar to her ears, as if she were reciting the words of a script she had not yet read and for which she did not know the outcome. His face fell, which he quickly covered by taking another large sip of hot, bitter coffee.

"Thank you," he muttered down at his plate. "I'm so glad you've suffered no ill effects."

Of course, she must regret what they'd done. It had been madness! What _had_ he been thinking, really? She was Lady Mary and he'd - he'd... All their promises and affection of the evening before seemed forgotten. Desperate to evade the awkward silence he could feel hovering, he glanced again at Cora.

"Do you have any particular plans for today?" he asked politely, in the hope that her answer would give him some time to think.

"I don't know," replied the countess, oblivious to any awkwardness. After all, compared to their behaviour previously, Matthew and Mary were in positively good humour! "But isn't that the joy of holidays - to do just as you like?"

Mary rolled her eyes. "Isn't that what we do at home too?"

She was so caught up in her automatic response that she met Matthew's eyes by accident. She twisted her lips anxiously and quickly looked away, taking another roll and beginning to butter this one very quickly.

If the blush Matthew felt spreading up the back of his neck was in any way apparent, Cora thankfully seemed oblivious to it.

"I suppose it is," he replied quietly, before chewing thoughtfully on another mouthful of toast. He tried to concentrate on the taste of it but somehow could only remember the taste of Mary, and the softness of her lips. He blinked.

"I think I might go for a walk along the beach," he said after a moment's silence, with an air of impulsiveness. He needed the air, the distance, the time to properly think in the clear light of day. Again, his eyes darted to Mary, trying to guess at her feelings, but... there was nothing there. His heart tightened in his chest.

Mary raised her eyes again and met his. They should talk, really they should. Clearly he was suggesting this in the hope that she would join him and yet she did not even know how to look at him, for he was Matthew... and he was her lover, and he seemed positively choked by all his clothing and rigid layers of propriety. She could imagine his throat, the feel of it and its texture, if only his collar were looser... As her thoughts drifted into unhelpful territory and heat flooded her, she missed the opportunity to reply and her mother got there first.

"What a lovely idea, Matthew!" Cora said warmly. "The sun's out but not strong enough for bathing, I expect, so a walk would be excellent. Robert will like that I know. Will you come, Mary?"

She nodded and concealed a sigh. "If everybody's going, then I suppose I have no choice," she responded. Her resistance was to her mother's hijacking of the scheme but it came out simply as sounding purposefully difficult.

Matthew blinked, his gaze flicking between the two women. That hadn't been what he'd meant! And Mary sounded so resistant to the idea, well... why wouldn't she be? It wasn't as though he could hope for a moment alone with her, not _now_, and what could he say to her in any case? What could he say to her at all, company or not? Somehow he'd become distracted as his gaze fixed upon her lips, where a crumb had settled - had she noticed? - and he coughed quietly.

"Of course you're welcome to join me, if you'd like," he offered (a superfluous courtesy since it seemed the decision had already been made).

"Isn't that rather Mama's point?" Mary replied with grudging civility, "We'll all go."

Matthew pursed his lips into a slight frown. She was being so cool towards him! Just then, Sybil and Edith entered the room together and, thankful for the distraction, Matthew stood quickly up to greet them as Mary broke off with a rather pointed and frustrated glance at him. There was a crumb on her lip - she licked it away quickly (sending an involuntary shiver through Matthew, who gripped his knife tighter) and forced a smile onto her face to greet her sisters.

"Good morning," Matthew smiled, but their attention was immediately turned to Mary too.

He watched carefully for her reaction, now not directed at him as Sybil clutched her hands while she sat beside her and asked, in a breathless rush, "Mary! We were so worried about you yesterday, you know. Are you quite alright? What a good job Matthew was there to save you!"

Never had it been harder to be nice to her sister... "Don't be so melodramatic, darling!" Mary replied. "Matthew didn't save me from anything; he just... happened to be there." It seemed that there was a tense silence when she spoke though there really was nothing of the kind and she felt obliged to continue in a hurry, "Though I suppose I am very grateful he was, all things considered."

Her voice got quieter and quieter as she continued until she looked down at her plate and was happy to be distracted by the footman pouring her coffee. As she spoke, Matthew stared at her, biting the inside of his lip. Just to breathe seemed like the most tremendous effort. '_Just happened to be there_' indeed! If he hadn't... Well, if he hadn't have been, nothing at all would have happened, and - they wouldn't be in this mess, admittedly, but a part of him would be very, very sorry for it.

Still staring (rather obviously, he worried) at Mary, he took a gentle breath and said, "You're very welcome, Mary." He thought for a moment about his next choice of words, then decided to say them anyway, for what harm could it do? "I'm... very glad I _was_ there," he said carefully, and quietly. He blinked, and his expression became almost hopeful.

Mary raised her eyes to his over her coffee with more tenderness than she had done so far this morning. His tone reminded her more of the previous evening and her lips curved up into a gentle smile as the rest of the room faded into irrelevance. He did not regret it, he couldn't, he still - he still what? Cared for her? She was not sure.

She was about to reply in some nonsensical way when Edith interrupted, "Well, that's what you get, Mary, if you will rush about the headland on your own. You're very lucky in my opinion not to be injured."

Quite unexpectedly, Matthew felt a rush of defensiveness on her behalf at Edith's unnecessary comment.

"But she wasn't on her own, was she?" he said, too quickly, flexing his fingers as he released his butter knife and taking another sip of coffee. Blood raced through his veins at Mary's ghost of a smile - very slight, but definitely there, he was sure - what did it mean? He felt clueless, and lost. He blinked, and lowered his eyes to his plate. "She wasn't alone, and she wasn't hurt, and - I'm sure that Mary would rather not be bothered about it any more."

"Thank you," she mouthed at him, as Edith retorted, "Oh, Mary gets away with everything, doesn't she!"

"Edith!" exclaimed her mother, looking between her three daughters and Matthew in some bewilderment.

Fortunately, before the scene could get any more awkward, the earl, his mother and Isobel all entered together. Mary felt her grip on her coffee cup relax a little. For a moment she had been unwise and who knew what might have been suspected from her behaviour - _their_ behaviour. She sat up a little straighter, cleared her throat, and asked her father with great interest about the day's papers.

Matthew smiled gratefully at Mary, mouthing "Thank you," back to her as the Earl summarised the morning's (entirely uninteresting) news then quickly looked away. He'd only seen his mother briefly the evening before, after leaving the rest of the family, and greeted her quietly now. His mind was left in turmoil over Mary, and through the rest of breakfast he did not speak directly to her; it wasn't necessary and he couldn't draw any more attention to them. He sufficed to steal repeated glances at her, trying to rein his mind in as he remembered, and wondered what she truly thought of it all. Perhaps he would get the opportunity later on. He wasn't sure whether he hoped so, or not.

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><p>The weather was fine, when they set out later on, the air having cleared from the previous day's storm. Matthew took a deep breath as they stepped onto the beach, idly watching the other bathers and people enjoying the sunshine. He walked with his mother; not purposefully avoiding Mary but making no effort to seek her out... Well, he didn't want to seem at all obvious.<p>

He stared out at the sea, then at the sand, watching it sink beneath his feet, and suddenly he felt the urge to feel it between his toes, as he hadn't done since he was a little boy. Glancing round the rest of the party, he wondered if anyone would mind. Surely not... and in any case, he decided he didn't care. He might be the future earl of Grantham, but for now he was still a very ordinary upper middle-class country solicitor, and he wanted to walk barefoot in the sand.

"Do go on, Mother," he said quickly, "I won't be a moment."

When she nodded and walked on, he stooped, untied his shoes, took them off as well his socks, tucking them into his shoes and, for good measure, rolled his trousers up a few turns. That was better! As he started to walk again, a childishly happy smile lit his face as he carried on, a few paces behind the rest of the party.

Mary wandered along the sand next to Sybil and her mother but without really paying any attention to them. It was good to take deep breaths of sea air and feel refreshed. After so much crying the previous night, not to mention the muggy weather up until now, it was natural to feel the need for blowing away the cobwebs and she soon felt entirely restored to her normal equilibrium. She was always aware of Matthew, however, and when Cousin Isobel drew level with them and he was not with her, she looked back and saw Matthew taking off his socks. Her mouth suddenly felt dry as his feet and ankles emerged and she fell silently behind the others. This was the most amount of skin she had seen on him before and her stomach flipped. She had to control this! Pursing her lips she slowed her walk almost to a standstill until he caught her up.

He hadn't expected her to drop back to follow him! His pulse quickened as he drew level with her, after having quickly realised that there was no way to avoid it short of distancing himself completely from the family. He smiled breathlessly, a little nervously, at her.

Heart pounding as if she were seventeen years old and talking to her first dance partner, Mary smiled tentatively, ran her eyes up from his feet to his eyes and asked lightly, "Planning a swim, Matthew?"

"What if I was?" he replied; then, without thinking, "Would you want to join me?" No sooner had the question left his lips, he blushed fiercely with horror at himself. God, what was he suggesting! The thoughts, images that... _that_ conjured... Of her own feet, ankles, her dress clinging to her limbs in the water, limbs that he'd... his eyes dropped to his feet, and he swung his shoes distractedly by his side. "God, Mary, I'm - sorry, I didn't mean..." He trailed off, without excuse.

Mary stared at him, her jaw dropping a bit and then, as his embarrassment increased, she laughed softly.

"Didn't you?" she retorted, biting her lip in amusement, her eyes sparkling at him. Her hand stretched out automatically to touch his arm in sympathy but she quickly dropped it before it did. She quickly looked away as she continued walking but it was hard to feel as embarrassed as she should in the face of his ridiculous behaviour - and the fact that the rest of their party was walking ahead and facing away from them.

He glanced quickly across at her, blushing gently. "No, I - well, I didn't mean to imply that you might want - oh, it doesn't matter!" he blustered, though a gentle, awkward smile curled on his lip. Considering that their opportunities to be alone would be scarce, and he could not count on another before they left Scarborough, he decided to make some use of it and swayed towards her a little as he spoke.

"Are you really alright, after - yesterday?" he asked quietly, and very seriously. "Do you - do you regret any of it?"

"Not as much as I should do probably," Mary replied a little more soberly, but still not matching his gravity. She still had not been able to think seriously about what they had done and she had an idea that she would not be able to bear it as soon as she did. In the meantime, it was sunny and blustery and they were together... "Is the sea cold?" she asked him hastily.

Was the... sea cold? Matthew had no idea, he didn't care! He licked his lips and frowned quickly. What was he supposed to take from that? Clearly, she was in no mood to talk about the state of things between them, and - he wasn't sure what to make of that.

"I really don't know," he shrugged, a little offhandedly.

Mary raised her eyebrows and flicked her eyes down to his feet. He was flexing his toes in the sand and she perceived a brush of hairs on them. She looked quickly back up again, trying not to blush.

"What's the point of taking your shoes off if you're not going to try the water?" She tilted her head. "Perhaps I should. What do you think, Matthew?"

He couldn't do more than look at her for a fleeting moment, for all the feelings she inspired in him. The thoughts spiraling through his mind at her suggestion were making him warm, all the way through, the threads of desire mingling with frustration at her apparent determination to avoid any sort of serious discussion.

"I think what you do is entirely up to you, Mary," he finally managed to say, staring determinedly down as his feet, noticing the tips of her shoes every time they fell in step with his toes.

"Entirely up to me?" retorted Mary with raised eyebrows. "I see. In that case I shall do exactly - what - I - want." As she spoke, she bent down to catch at the buckles on her shoes to undo them. Standing on one leg, she swayed and grabbed Matthew's arm to steady her as she took off first one shoe and then the other.

"I - Mary!" he gasped, reaching instinctively for her, caught somewhere between amusement, horror, and... arousal. He swallowed heavily. Stiffening, he felt every muscle tense against his instincts (to move away from her, towards her - he hardly knew!) as he froze in indecision. She was impossible! "What are you doing?" he hissed.

She dropped his arm, feeling the imprint of it on her hand for moments afterwards, to pick up her shoes. She still wore her stockings but there was really no way of getting them off without raising her skirts and well, once a week was enough for that, surely?

"Being very improper indeed," she replied, a little out of breath, as she straightened. "I wouldn't have thought you'd mind."

Matthew's jaw dropped in surprise. "You wouldn't - that I - _Mary_!" he hissed again, feeling incredibly affronted at her opinion of him. "I - of course I - Mary, our family are only just there!"

What he meant by that, he really couldn't have said. Did he mind? Did he want... For himself, he didn't suppose he _did_ mind, but - they had to be careful! He felt as though he were on fire, shifting uncomfortably in the sand, staring in bewilderment at her.

"So they are." Her shoulders bumped against his as she turned to continue walking. Mary was not quite sure what she was insisting on. She frowned and then shook her head. "Cheer up, Matthew; I'll keep my stockings on! A line must be drawn somewhere, mustn't it?" She was smiling at him but it was forced and she was not quite sure... The smile wavered.

"I think it must!" he said, with far more sharpness than he meant (though out of necessity than desire, he felt) and she drew back at his tone. Was she determined to tease him until he snapped, and - well, what was she hoping for? Did she _want_ him to break, as he had done yesterday? His gaze slid sideways to hers, his lips pressed into a thin line of forced control.

"Are you - going to try the water, or not?" he eventually asked, for the sake of conversation. This was unbearably difficult! His entire body prickled with awareness of her proximity, and... her shoes were off, he could see that her feet and ankles were delicate, pretty and... he had to stop!

"Obviously not, unless you think I should take my stockings off as well!" she snapped, gesturing down at her feet. "Oh, come on; let's catch up with the others. Perhaps Sybil will want to paddle." She started walking a little more quickly.

Now Matthew felt frustrated, unsure of her or even himself.

"Perhaps she will," he bit back, hanging behind her for a second and glaring at her figure in front of him. At her slender ankles and slim waist, the skin at the back of her neck shining in the sunlight where a few wisps of hair had escaped in the sea breeze, and - God, he _knew_ her, he'd _had_ her and felt her and now he hadn't the slightest clue of what she expected of him and how he was supposed to behave properly around her!

With a frustrated sigh, he picked up his pace and briskly caught up with her. "I'm sorry," he muttered quietly. "I'm not sure how to - how to do this, yet."

Mary hadn't really wanted to push him away, of course she hadn't, so as soon as she became aware of him at her side again she slowed down and turned to him quickly, softening.

"No, of course you're not," she replied, "and I suppose that's why we're not announcing our engagement this morning!"

On an impulse, she reached out and briefly touched his fingers and squeezed them before dropping his hand again. It was a simple gesture but she had not been prepared for the surge of emotion and desire and memory that passed through her and she gasped and looked quickly out over the sea. Almost as if it had actually happened, with one touch she had been pulled into his arms once more and could feel them encircling her. She swallowed and blinked to clear her head.

His fingers seemed to burn from her touch, and he wished (so fiercely that he felt an ache of longing in his chest) that she had not let go. They flexed unconsciously at his side, and he moistened his lips, peering ahead of him at the lightly clouding sky.

"Yes, I suppose so," he said quietly. "We will..." He stopped walking, touched her elbow, and looked earnestly at her, taking the opportunity to gaze unguardedly and drink in every feature of her sun-bathed face, her paleness taking on a beautifully golden hue. He smiled gently. "We will - be alright, won't we?"

Her face passed through various shades of doubt and affection as he spoke. "I hope so, Matthew," she replied and suddenly felt very warmly towards him indeed. If she had to have made love to anyone outside matrimony, she was glad it had been him. She was not quite sure how to express that so she just gave him a shy little smile and a shrug and then shoved her hands into her coat pockets and began to walk again.

"So do I," he replied quietly.

Something about her gentle expression - something tender, almost, reminding him of the previous evening when she had kissed him softly on the path - reassured him. He stood for a while, still, and allowed her to catch up to her family before walking again, concentrating on the sensation of damp sand between his toes. He needed to concentrate on _something_!

At least she didn't seem to hate him, this morning, which was what he'd been most afraid of. It was something, at least, and if he was honest he didn't quite dare to push it any further. They would be back at Downton in only a couple of days, and... maybe, it would be easier if he stayed away from her until then. Then, when they were back in the normalcy of familiar settings and routines, they could do as they'd promised and simply practise getting along. Here - with every association that it brought, every memory (he could see the castle in the distance, on the cliff) - that task seemed impossible, not without risk of giving himself away through his stammers and blushes. Ultimately, he thought, they both hoped that it would be alright.

He smiled, swung his shoes, and caught up again to his mother who'd just seen a crab in the sand.

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><p><em>AN: Thank you for reading. We hope you enjoyed and would love to hear what you think! :)_

_OrangeShipper and Silvestria_


	8. Chapter Seven

A/N: _Happy Monday! And greetings once again._

_Thank you ever so much for your continued enthusiasm for and responses to this fic! It means a great deal to us, a very.. great deal.. (Sorry. Can never resist that!)._

_Onwards with fun and frolics at Scarborough with a very awkward Matthew still and an increasingly flustered Mary. We do hope you'll enjoy!  
><em>

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><p><strong>Chapter Seven<strong>

Mr. Grove returned Mary to her family group at the end of their dance and she thanked him with a beaming smile that came easily to her. He was a nice man really. Far too old to be attractive, forty-five at least, but she had no objection to one dance on their last evening in the place. It meant nothing. She sank back into her old seat between her mother and Sybil, noticing as she did so that Edith was not there.

"Really, Edith managed to get herself a partner, did she?" she drawled patronisingly. "Good for her!"

She took a sip of her water and noticed that Matthew was still staring at her really quite obviously. He had been all evening. She had noticed because, well, it was rather obvious. Not that she had been looking. Well, of course she had, but she had looked away immediately - and she had been discrete about it! But she couldn't not have looked... She felt drawn to him in such a powerful way, as if they were somehow invisibly attached by a piece of string. It was terrible and frightening and she fought it hard. At least he had made it easier by practically ignoring her for the past two days.

How was she managing to be so blasé about everything? Matthew wondered, as he watched her smile glitteringly, making her way back towards them - she did not appear affected at all. It had, he supposed, been two days now - two days in which he had made a concerted effort to avoid her, believing it would be easier that way - but now they were together with everyone again and she was so effortlessly cool! Matthew practically glowered at her, watching her in an uneasy fascination. He hadn't been able to take his eyes off her, watching so carefully her every move to see how she acted, enthralled by her... Her quick glance, then look away, shook him.

Distractedly, he frowned into his glass and muttered, "Well, why shouldn't she? Good for her indeed."

It would be quite nice, he thought, to dance. Even Edith got to dance. But not him. There was only Mary he would've danced with, after all, and she was clearly equally intent on having nothing to do with him.

"You should be dancing, Matthew," smiled Cora, who had heard his remark. "I am hoping my own husband might ask me soon but he's being very remiss!"

She raised her eyebrows mischievously at Robert over the table. Mary had not caught the words of his comment but she picked up on the spirit of them and glanced at Matthew in slightly bemused surprise. She was not sure what he wanted. He had not spoken a word to her all evening and he could hardly have wanted her to refuse somebody who asked her to dance. And if he was jealous... The man was going bald! How could he possibly imagine that after what they had shared she could begin to look at another man in that way? Not that they held any obligations to each other except to be nice - though that did seem to be working so far. She looked away again and slightly shook out her arms, letting her bracelets settle on her wrist.

Matthew's gaze flicked up to Cora; he looked slightly startled.

"Should I! I'm not at all sure about that," he stammered, desperately trying to find a way out of it. "I really don't know anyone aside from the family, and... I think I don't always make a spectacular first impression... Really, I'm quite content." He raised a smile, determinedly not looking at Mary.

Robert chuckled from across the table. "Matthew, if you're concerned about dancing with someone unfamiliar, there's an obvious answer - Mary doesn't currently have a partner - I think the two of you are somewhat beyond first impressions now!"

Matthew's eyes widened in horror. Oblivious to his reaction, Robert beamed at the scheme.

Mary's heart skipped a beat and her eyes flew to his, though she did not move in her chair.

"I suppose," she could not resist commenting with wry humour, and was glad that her voice sounded perfectly normal, "that this is the moment where I say that Matthew improves on closer acquaintance!"

She looked at him with a challenge in her gaze. He really ought to ask her to dance. It would be rude not to yet considering their relationship utterly inconceivable. Unless... "But perhaps there is more to his refusal than mere diffidence. Perhaps he does not know how!"

This seemed to go a little far even for her but she could not back down now. As she forced her gaze to remain on him, she could not help noticing out of the corner of her eye how well his jacket fitted his shoulders, how proudly he carried it - those shoulders which she had clutched in desperate passion... She felt a flush start on her cheeks and tried to will it away.

Matthew's breath caught and his heart started to beat faster. She was playing with him, giving him an excuse to ask her, gazing at him so deeply - he flushed slightly, he was sure, but met her eyes evenly.

"I certainly do," he said, a slight, teasing snip to his tone. It certainly was a challenge; from her and from all of them, not that he cared about the rest. "It is simply that I do not take a partner lightly."

His heart was thudding in his chest, his eyes flitting over her and the way her dress clung softly to the curves of her body which, he remembered with a fresh, sharp pang, he had seen nothing of - despite the intimacy of their actions. His mind wandered for a moment, his eyes glazing over... until he realised that Mary was still eyeing him challengingly.

"Must I prove myself, Mary?"

Her heart pounded and she felt her chest tighten somewhere between panic at how incredibly obvious he was being and desire from the way he was looking at her and the subtext of his words. She had to deflect it. So she sat back and laughed slightly, though it was a very great effort.

"All this fuss over a dance! You must do as you please, cousin." (Her tongue tripped over the title; it sounded so wrong now.) She looked away and smiled at her mother instead as if to say, _These foolish men!_

"Well," said Robert after a second. "Whether Matthew dances or not, I take my wife's hint. Will you, my dear?"

He held his hand out to Cora, she accepted it and they disappeared onto the dance floor.

Matthew's eyes trailed after them till they were out of sight, lost amidst the swirl of colour on the ballroom floor. He looked down a moment, as if considering something very deeply. With a burst of decisiveness he looked up at Mary, set his glass down, stood and crossed the few steps to stand by her seat. Holding his hand out, he raised a taunting eyebrow.

"Well? I should very much like to dance with you, you know."

There was something about Matthew's expression, something deliberate about it, that made her suddenly flush all over with heat, and she was glad her parents had left. Her mouth was suddenly dry and she did not reply, only raising her eyebrows in return, put her hand in his and stood up gracefully. It did not seem like much now for they both wore gloves, but still his touch sent a thrill through her, though it was a slightly different kind to before, almost of recognition.

His eyes fixed upon her as she rose. To have her place her hand in his, giving her consent to him - a sort of control - made him feel breathless. The ghost of a smile played upon his lips and he whispered softly, "Come," gently inclining his head for her to follow.

The effect she had on him was so potent that it was almost too much to look at her. And yet he could not resist. When they reached a space he turned, slipping his arm smoothly around her waist and stepping into her embrace. His breath caught as he felt the gentle pressure of her body… just a fraction closer perhaps than was proper. He let out a soft sigh, forgetting that the hold brought his lips hovering close to her ear.

It was as if they had never been apart as soon as their fingers touched, as if the distance of the last two days had not happened. She responded to him instinctively, her arms fitting round his into the appropriate hold for the dance and slotting herself against him as if it was quite the most natural thing in the world, even though they had never danced together before. As he sighed, she felt a tremor sweep through her. This was ridiculous.

As he began to dance with her, she breathed in hardly a whisper (after all, her lips were close to his ear as well), "You did make a fuss back there! Whatever did you mean by it?"

He pursed his lips and grumbled slightly.

"I'm sorry, but your father commenting on you and I being somewhat past first impressions threw me. I hardly know how to speak to him now as it is! It's - difficult," he said shakily.

Perhaps it was so easy for her, but it certainly wasn't easy for him to breeze over these things!

"Well," she began, "we _are_ somewhat passed first impressions, aren't we?" It had meant to come out as detached and amused but it fell rather heavily, especially considering how quietly she had said it. "Really, Matthew," she continued quickly, "you mustn't take everything so seriously!"

"How can you _not_!" he hissed suddenly in her ear. Her flippancy unsettled him. It made him terribly unsure of things, as if he were not enough already! "Should I not be taking it seriously? Mary, what we did was - was -" his lips were almost brushing against her ear as he whispered quietly but forcefully. "It _was_ serious, and I don't think should be treated so lightly! Unless it meant so little to you that you simply do not care!"

His arms unconsciously gripped her a little tighter in his agitation.

He was holding her too tightly for her to pull back and look at him as she wished, though she turned her head away upon feeling the faint touch of his lips against her ear.

"Matthew!" she was forced to hiss back. "We are in a room full of strangers not to mention my parents. How dare you speak of such things! You had better hold me further away before somebody comments."

And before her reaction to him became too difficult to hide or manage.

His brows rose sharply at her reaction. With great difficulty, he forced his arms to relax slightly, though he was very acutely aware of the slight pressure where their hips touched, where his leg pushed against hers. It was an utterly tantalizing embrace. He had to lean forwards now, a fraction, to whisper in her ear again.

"Now who's taking things seriously! Do you imagine anyone can hear? Should you like to talk about today's fine weather instead, perhaps?"

He leaned back enough so that when he turned his head toward her he could meet her eyes, frowning gently with a deep, meaningful expression. She relaxed a little and tried to calm her pounding heart.

"No," she replied, meeting his eyes properly for the first time that evening and finding that she could not look away, and also that somehow she felt herself actually softening in his arms. She seemed to have no control over her reactions to him. "Of course I don't want to talk about the weather - though I noticed you out enjoying it earlier." She hesitated. "And come, I do not know why you should assume anything just because I do not wish to discuss my - my private life in a ballroom."

"No," he relented softly. "No, I suppose you're right."

Unconsciously, his gaze flitted between her eyes and her lips. He quickly decided this was a dangerous distraction and pulled her a little closer again, bringing them cheek to cheek once more. For a little while they danced in silence, for which Mary was grateful; he led her confidently and smoothly and was greatly enjoying the feel of her in his arms. Matthew was a much better dancer than she might have imagined he would be and she was able to put the prickly beginning of their dance behind them. On the other hand... other feelings and images and memories now intruded at the thought and feel of him moving with her around the floor and she caressed his shoulder with her thumb as he turned her at the corner of the room.

"I've wanted to do this for a very long time," he eventually murmured quietly, turning his head in a little towards her though keeping his eyes ahead.

"And now you can say that you have indeed done it!" she murmured back, just a little hint of mischief in her voice. Her mind, after all, was not on the dance itself as much as it should be.

Whether intentional or not, her bold words hit him sharply and he whipped his head to face her, almost stumbling in the process. He was twisted uncomfortably but his face was close, so close to hers and his eyes kept slinking down to her lips. His fingers traced small patterns on her back - he discovered with a small thrill that if he stretched his finger just enough he could reach her bare skin where her dress was cut low… and he hissed in a shallow breath.

"Oh..." she breathed, arching her back at little at the feel of his fingers touching her so very lightly through her thin dress. The effect of her movement was only to cause her chest to brush against his, which hardly helped the increasing tingle of nerves that she was feeling. It was almost as if he was touching her bare skin itself.

"I can," he almost whispered, his voice low and breathless. "And I hope I have proved myself competent enough!"

His lips twitched a fraction and he was forced to look back over her shoulder before his eyes betrayed his sudden nerves. He was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on the dance at all. Really, he was not proving himself in the least competent at this rate.

"Well, you're not dancing very well!" she cried critically and breathlessly to distract herself.

"No, I'm... afraid I'm not, am I," he said gently, his tone light in self-mockery but tinged with something deeper. "Well, I'd only better hope that I have other skills with which I can make up for it!" As soon as the words left his lips he winced slightly, then said desperately to cover himself, "I _do_ ride well, at least, you challenged me about that once – and you've not tested me on that score, either!"

She raised her eyebrows over his shoulder.

"Was that an invitation to see the proof of it, I wonder? It is true, I have never tested your riding ability; I suppose we better had find something you're good at!" she responded to his gentle mockery.

Matthew's lips parted in a sort of pleasurable shock at her continued taunting.

"I think it's important that we do!" He chuckled gently, his lips tugging into a smile. "If you should like to take it as an invitation, Mary, I'd be more than willing to oblige you. I can't help but rise to a challenge; you know that of me by now!"

His heart gave a little leap at how well they suddenly seemed to be getting on. It was easy and comfortable though always still tinged with the thread of desire. He felt a sudden longing to be closer to her and he turned his head in towards her again, his lips perilously close to her skin.

She was... she was enjoying herself, she realised with a shock. With Matthew. Dancing with him. Talking to him. Being in his arms. Could she get used to this? She rather thought she could and she was no longer concerned by it, not for the moment.

"Now that is a challenge! At this rate I fear you would agree to anything I might suggest."

She was not quite sure where this playful banter was going but somehow her self-restraint seemed stifled, and she pursued the path of their dialogue without hesitation.

As a result of his ease, Matthew was pleased to find his dancing abilities returning, and his smile grew a little wider. He was actually having fun. He was enjoying this teasing and her playfulness.

"I think you'd find me compliant if you did - I can't see myself refusing you anything, Mary."

"Nothing?" she murmured into his ear, leaning forward to do so, her breath tickling his neck. Her restraint and propriety of earlier were quite forgotten. In fact, she was hardly aware of her parents' presence at all now. "I wonder..."

Her lips curved into a smile. She could not say what she had in mind precisely, except that she liked to flirt with Matthew and was more interested in how he would respond to her than in what she meant in the first place.

His lips twitched further upwards. He wasn't quite sure what had come over them, but he certainly wasn't complaining… He was filled with a nervous anticipation at the hidden promises in their words, and the thought that they alone understood each other. He leaned slightly till his lips hovered just by her ear, his breath falling warmly on her as he responded in a deep, trembling voice, "No... Nothing."

She felt his reply all through her body and shivered.

"What a shame it is," she said a moment later, when she was able to reply, "that the dance seems to be coming to an end. Maybe I could have put that declaration of yours to the test, only now I suppose you must return me to my father's side."

She sighed regretfully at the mockingly prim tone her words took. But there was an undercurrent of challenge about them that almost made her draw breath at her own daring and the ideas suggested by her words. She moved the hand on his shoulder back a few inches, but it was enough for it clasp it more possessively rather than just resting her hand flat against it as she had been.

Matthew's heart sank a little as he realised she was right; but the slight clutch of her hand and the tone behind her words made him wonder. Breathlessly, and feeling worryingly bold, he looked at her properly.

"Must I?"

"But of course, Matthew; what else could you do?" she replied with provocative innocence.

She ought to be alarmed by her forward behaviour, ought to wonder if _this_ was really what they had meant the other night about trying to be nicer to each other, but she could not bring herself to. After all, what could they possibly do in a ballroom surrounded by elderly chaperones and her family?

"Well, I could... engage you for the next dance, or there's... a small terrace just outside - we might be freer to talk, there. If you would want to."

As the music ended he brought them gradually to a halt. His eyebrows rose and he flexed his lips gently, reckoning that she needed to decide one or the other soon. He didn't mind so long as he would get to spend a little more time with her, stand close by her side a little longer... He released his arm from around her waist but retained her hand a moment more. Then he decided that really would look too forward, to any observer, and dropped it with a twinge of regret. His hands twitched restlessly at his sides.

She stepped back from him, feeling the warm imprint on her back where his hand had been. The terrace... there always was one, wasn't there? And she rarely backed down from an opportunity to go on it, usually because dancing with lusty men was generally unappealing. With Matthew however... yet if they were going to continue this kind of banter and stand so close, they really oughtn't to do it in the ballroom. She considered that there might really be something flawed in her logic... but did not examine it.

"Considering your lamentable dancing skills, Matthew," she teased him gently, though her eyes were warmer than the words suggested, "I must express a preference for the latter."

He smiled tremulously, having almost not really expected her to agree to either option. He certainly felt as though the terrace were a good idea… Her tantalising proximity and the heat of the ballroom was making him prickle with heat. He pressed his lips into a smile and nodded, proferring his elbow for her to take. He liked this. They weaved through the milling couples and out of the door, continuing in silence until they reached the terrace.

Mary had been there many times before but the view over the dusky sea had never seemed so beautiful before. It whispered on the shingle below and the evening air was filled only with music and light chatter, no motor noise any more. She sighed as the peace of the atmosphere washed over her. He rendered her quite helpless to him. Perhaps at Downton, perhaps on her own turf, she would be able to reassert her superiority and control over the situation but for now she was all his. Here in the neutral territory of Scarborough it was easy to forget who they were in relation to each other. (She had not forgotten before but it was convenient to pass over that now.) For this one last night she could reinvent herself, and for these last few moments they would have alone she let herself.

The evening air was cool, the fading rays of sunlight casting a warm glow over the swells of waves. He stood looking out at it for a moment, filling his lungs with the fresh air then turned to face her. Tenderly he took both her hands in his, and rubbed his thumbs absently across the back of them, gazing at her with warm affection. She turned willingly from the sea and raised her eyes to his, meeting his gaze and not bothering to hide the strength of the feelings she could not express in words.

Matthew felt his stomach flip over as she looked at him. His lips trembled into a smile and he had to look down a moment, overcome by the strength of what he was feeling. He felt as though they were in a bubble, some strange bubble of perfection that nothing could intrude into. His eyes flicked back up to hers, shining with affection.

Quietly, in almost a whisper as if anything more would shatter the atmosphere, he breathed, "Are you alright?" Tenderness shone in his face at the vulnerability in her expression.

Something passed through her, a wave of strong, warm emotion that made her grip his fingers and press her eyes closed almost in pain. He was so _good_. She did not know anyone so good. When she opened her eyes, she smiled faintly in gratitude and reached up to brush her fingers lightly against his cheek in silent response.

"Are you?" she whispered back.

Her touch caused his breath to catch in his throat, and he chuckled gently. "Yes. I am. I'm... not sure I've ever been more alright. That sounds silly, doesn't it?"

She smiled back, unable to help it.

"It does sound a little silly!" she replied very softly and fondly.

Never had he felt more _right_. He moistened his dry lips and his gaze fell, lingering, on hers. He wanted to kiss her again. Would she object? He took a shallow breath, moving a fraction closer, hesitating with parted lips just inches from hers.

That he should kiss her was inevitable, and really, was not that why she had brought him out here? It would be foolish to admit otherwise. Of course she had wanted to kiss him from the moment he had taken her in his arms to dance, possibly before then. Still, her eyes shot behind him and before she gave in to him, she stepped back a few paces, pulling him with her, just to get them further out of sight of the door. Then her expression softened and she swayed forward and kissed him gently.

As he smiled against her lips, Matthew's arms crept around her waist. He felt slightly ridiculous. Foolish, daring, light-headed, enchanted… like a giddy schoolboy. It was wondrous. Such a simple delight filled him, to hold Mary in his arms and kiss her. It was so simple! At this moment, lost in her, he simply couldn't understand why they had so obstinately denied this to themselves for so long.

He dropped her hands in order to pull her closer against him and she wrapped her own arms round him, her hands lightly clasped against the back of his neck, smoothing over his shoulders and feeling their unexpected strength as they moved upwards. Even such a gentle touch was enough to make her feel light headed.

As her hands roamed over his shoulders, his own roamed over her back. She was so slender, so delicate, and seemed so fragile under his touch. When his hand slid warmly over the bare skin at the top of her back, a shiver rippled through him. Now, he recognised the beginnings of the spread of warm desire and he… welcomed it. A soft murmur of contentment sounded at the back of his throat.

She almost jumped at the unfamiliar feeling of his hand tracing over her bare skin. Nobody but nobody had ever touched her there in that way before. Oh, sometimes a hand had wandered higher than it should have done when dancing, but not with such a deliberate caress. She wondered what it would feel like if he were not wearing gloves and shuddered, tightening her arms round his neck.

In response to the pull of her arms around his neck he shuffled closer, as far as he could manage, pressing himself into her. One arm was wrapped tightly around her waist, his other under her shoulders with his hand curling possessively over. He enveloped her completely in his embrace, wanting to wrap her and protect her and keep her. His heart was thudding in his chest against hers.

She felt completely enveloped by him, filled with a completely false sense that so long as she remained here with him nothing could possibly go wrong. The kiss was heady and exhilerating but also somehow comforting. Her dress was so thin and she felt so much closer to him already than she had done at the castle and as if her body remembered it of its own accord, she tilted her head to deepen the kiss, and one of her hands slid up into his hair to hold his head down against hers. She sighed blissfully into his mouth.

He felt her relax against him, and shivered as she deepened the kiss. Warmth and desire were rippling through him in waves and he responded with equal measure of passion. It was different to earlier… Slower, sweeter, more exploratory and knowing than the thrilling rush of before. His mind unconsciously mulled over this, that to kiss her now felt familiar, that they _knew_ each other. Without thought his hands continued to explore her, inevitably reaching up around the back of her neck and his fingertips dipped into her hair.

Every time his fingers brushed over her skin or her dress, on her back, her neck or her side at her waist, it left a trail of fire in their place and she shivered more frequently, especially when his hot touch was combined with the sea breeze causing her dress to flutter round her and brush her sensitive skin. At some point, however, something about the kiss crossed an invisible line from what was acceptable half in public on a terrace and what could be loosely defined as 'making love'. As his fingers touched her hair, she pulled back as if shot, breathing hard.

"Not my hair!" she cried quietly, her eyes glancing back in fear towards the door into the ballroom. "I have to - I have to go back in there!"

As she suddenly leapt away, Matthew drew a sharp breath of surprise. Cold reality, once again, swept over him in contrast to the burning heat deep within him. It was only now they had stopped that he realised just how lost in her he had been, how the heat had grown steadily and begun to consume him.

"Yes. Of course. I'm... sorry," he whispered breathlessly.

One of her sleeves (they were barely more than silken straps) had slid off her shoulder. His eyes flicked to it and he swallowed. Tentatively he stretched his hand out - hooking his finger under the strap and sliding it back onto her shoulder - the simple, intimate action sent a bolt of arousal rippling through him. For a moment his hand lingered there before rising to cup her cheek tenderly. She leaned into him with a slight sigh, as he met her eyes.

She returned his gaze darkly. Her hands longed to reach out to him but she did not dare any longer. Any second someone else could come out and discover them there. The friction of his glove on her skin caused heat to shoot through her and she almost fell against him again, only refraining with a great effort.

"Do you still consider that you are not my lover?" she said in an intense whisper but with a tiny reproach in it, even as saying the words out loud caused more shivers of desire to run through her.

His need was stirring and boiling and simmering, intensified by her heated whisper. He could barely breathe. Though his lips parted, almost no sound came out as he mouthed the word, "No."

Even as he admitted it, his barely coherent mind turned over all that that simple declaration meant and promised.

No? The "no" that mean that yes, he did consider himself her lover. Mary had to stop a second to get herself back under control. This could not continue. She broke from him with supreme force of will. "We have to go inside. They will wonder..."

He blinked and looked away, nervously moistening his lips as he clutched her hand tightly as if to steady himself. "Yes, let's. Come, then." And he started to move towards the entrance.

Just as they reached the doorway, silhouetted in it, she turned back to him with a frown, making sure that not even an inch of her dress touched any part of him lest she should shiver too obviously.

"At Downton," she said, then cleared her throat. There could be nothing unusual about her tone when she returned to her family. "At Downton," she started again in her usual voice, "there can be nothing of this sort. You must see that!"

Her eyes pleaded with him a moment though whether to believe her or to share her regret was not clear even to her. Then she dropped his hand without waiting for an answer and walked across the floor alone to where her parents and Sybil were sitting and sat back down in her own chair, uncomfortably aware of every sensation she felt in doing so. She smiled over brightly.

For a moment, Matthew couldn't move. He grasped the edge of the door and rested his forehead on the back of his hand, trying to recover himself for polite conversation. Mary seemed to manage the transition so easily, but he was still too struck with emotion. They couldn't continue... Of course he could see that. There was no possible way they could continue in this manner at Downton. But... they were still not _at_ Downton, not until tomorrow...

He locked the dangerous thought away, steeled himself, and made his way back towards the family with a polite smile. As he approached, going to stand slightly behind where his mother was seated, he caught the tail end of something Sybil was saying: "...sure it must be haunted, or something! How terribly exciting - just think - _anything_ could have happened!"

He paled suddenly and his eyes flashed to Mary's, glinting in understanding.

"Well, it did!" replied Mary with a bright and tense smile in response to Sybil's innocent query.

She had managed to return right in the middle of a conversation about her adventures at the castle. How unfortunate; they should have stayed outside longer! (No, no, definitely not. They should not have.) She could not help her eyes briefly meeting Matthew's as he came up to them but she looked away immediately. Goodness, but he looked flushed and ruffled, as if he had been doing exactly what he had been doing. She hoped it was not obvious to anyone else. Did she look like that?

She patted her hair self-consciously as she continued replying to Sybil, "I fell over, darling, and it was terribly embarrassing, but hardly gothic."

Such a small incident was not enough to satisfy Sybil, evidently. "Well yes, but _why_? You're hardly clumsy, Mary! Maybe some strange force had come over you… Did you feel different, any strange sorts of feelings? Who knows what secrets might be in those walls! Oh, I wish you'd taken me with you!"

Matthew gritted his teeth and clutched the back of his mother's chair, fearing his expression would give him away. He put all his concentration into a neutral smile, willing the heat in his cheeks to fade.

"I'm afraid the castle itself bears no ethereal powers, Sybil - though it was fascinating to explore. It's very easy to get carried away!" Yes, how easy it was, he reflected.

Mary shot him a grateful glance as he replied before she could have told her sister to shut up as it was on the tip of her tongue to do so. Then she looked away, fixing her features into a familiar expression of boredom and superiority as she tried to regulate her feelings. Her heart still beat far too loudly and she was forced to clasp her hands too tightly in her lap. The conversation had forced her to think of what had happened at the castle not that it was ever truly far from her mind. What would have happened on the terrace if she had not stopped them? What would have happened if Matthew's fingers had tangled in her hair as they had wanted to? She was not wearing a hat. He could have pulled the pins out and it would have tumbled down round her shoulders and...

Meanwhile, Sybil had turned her attention to Matthew.

"I expect it is!" she nodded wisely. "It has been so many years since I've been. Mary, Edith and I used to explore there all the time as children... We've been here so often!" She shook her head as if suddenly realising something. "But how have you enjoyed yourself this week, cousin? I suppose it must have been your first time!"

It had been an ill-advised moment to accept a drink from a passing waiter. He'd thought that sipping distractedly at something would help settle him, but at Sybil's question he nearly choked. Coughing behind his hand, he desperately avoided looking at Mary. Could they have no peace! His reaction had caused more than one eyebrow to rise. He moistened his lips and sighed gently, figuring that further deflection was probably useless.

"Yes... Yes, you're quite right. I've had a very pleasant week! I've – enjoyed myself tremendously, experienced some very agreeable new things – in fact, I'm really rather sorry to be leaving tomorrow." As he finished speaking his voice dropped a little and his eyes slid to Mary's. He drew in a breath, wishing he could stay forever, just with her, just like this.

There was a short silence after Matthew finished speaking for he had been rather more enthusiastic about a week by the British sea-side in indifferent weather than even Sybil could countenance. Mary was resolutely looking away, and indeed had heard very little of what he said, though the timbre of his voice only added to her increasingly inappropriate imaginings.

Eventually Lady Grantham said pleasantly, "I'm so glad you enjoyed yourself. You must join us next year as well. I hope Scarborough has also met your expectations, Mrs. Crawley."

"Indeed it has," replied Isobel, looking up at Matthew with some confusion. "Though I cannot say that sitting on a beach is quite such a novelty for me as it appears to have been for my son."

Matthew rolled his eyes at his mother. Honestly, what was wrong with a little enthusiasm? He was about to mutter something to this effect when Robert saved him.

"Well, I'm thrilled you've enjoyed yourselves - we should make it an annual event, perhaps." He smiled at his notion; it cheered him when they all seemed to be getting along. This reminded him. "And Mary, have you enjoyed your dances this evening? We wondered where you'd got to - I hope Matthew hadn't exerted you too much!"

He'd been pleased to notice that Matthew had asked her to dance after all - they did seem to be getting on better today. Mary did not hear the question for she was still staring into space, her thoughts far away. She only came back to the present when Sybil laid her hand on her arm causing her to flinch.

"Mary! Goodness, you do look flushed! Are you well?"

Mary turned quickly to look back and noticed everyone looking at her. Her mouth was dry.

"I - I-" She swallowed. "I do feel rather faint actually." Hot, shivery, and yes, a little faint.

Matthew's brow creased in concern, looking at her carefully. His heart seemed to thud in his chest, it hadn't stopped since... since she'd kissed him again. No, it had started before that even. A tiny thrill flitted through him at the effect he alone knew that he had on her.

Eventually, Cora said gently, "Mary, darling, why don't you go to bed? I think you have exerted yourself, rather, this evening - some rest will do you the world of good."

She frowned sympathetically at her daughter, as Isobel nodded in agreement.

"Yes," she said, her nursing instincts coming to the fore. "It is very hot in here - I suggest you retire and open your window, have a good night's sleep."

Mary drew in a breath then glanced at Matthew and all her blood rushed to her face. How on earth had she thought she could be in company with him like this? To look at him knowing what it felt like to clutch at his shoulders in passion, what it felt like to kiss his face and run her fingers through his hair, what it felt like to- A fresh wave of desire washed over her and she took another breath. Good God, this was his mother sitting there!

She stood up. "I think I shall!" She forced a smile.

Sybil caught anxiously at her hand. "Shall I go with you? I don't mind!"

Mary shook her off, thinking that nothing could be worse than Sybil right now. Then she relented at the look of hurt on her face.

"No, darling, I think I will be better alone. Anna can bring me a hot cocoa and then I am sure a proper rest will be just the ticket."

Her mother nodded. "That is very sensible, my dear. I'm sorry you feel ill. Goodnight, Mary."

This was echoed by everyone else.

Matthew's eyes followed her as she stood. Part of him felt responsible, and he was sorry for it. He felt as though his own face were burning, as he briefly contemplated the thought of her going to bed. Of her undressing... brushing out her silken hair... washing her body before putting her nightgown on... He swallowed and drew in a sharp breath, forcing himself back to the present company. His eyes flashed up to her. It was unthinkable! They couldn't go on like this, but the way she made him feel was so potent and delicious that he couldn't bear for it to end. He felt a sharp throb of need and paled, or flushed, somewhere between the two. He couldn't take his eyes from her, didn't want to.

Almost silently he murmured under his breath, "Goodnight, Mary."

She heard him as she stooped to pick up her little bag. She froze for a brief moment and then she looked at him as she straightened. Her lips parted at the expression of torment in his eyes. She frowned at him with something between reproof and desperate need.

"Goodnight, Matthew," she said in a low voice but thankfully without any tremble, before quickly turning away and walking out of the room.

He watched her leave. The room seemed suddenly empty, dull, without her sparkling presence. After a soft, inaudible sigh he fixed a smile on his face and made an enormous effort to join in the distracted chatter, though his thoughts were far away with her.

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><p>AN: _Thank you so much for reading! We very much hope you enjoyed it. If you did, we'd love to know about it (or any of your thoughts!) in a review._

_You'll be pleased to know that after the considerable awkward sexual tension in this chapter, next time both Matthew and Mary have a very good night's sleep and are feeling much much better in the morning. Oops, spoilers..._


	9. Chapter Eight

_A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews and continued enthusiasm for this fic. It means so much to us to know that you are enjoying it as much as we have been enjoying writing it and they have been enjoying... yeeeeeah anyway. :P_

_This chapter is... 10,000 words of... Um... We're just going to go hide in our bat cave now (Silvestria's got on her paper bag too for good measure). Enjoy!_

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><p><strong>Chapter Eight<strong>

Her mother had, as usual, prescribed the right cure, at least as far as it went. Mary had a warm bath and by keeping up a constant stream of inane chitchat with Anna she managed to resist the dangerous allure of daydreaming. Within an hour after leaving the ballroom she was tucked up in bed with a hot cocoa and a fashion magazine, in which she had very little interest, but she did not think she could have concentrated on a novel. After finishing the cocoa, however, she was still not sleepy. The bath had been very relaxing but it had not really lessened her feelings of desire, only dulled them. Now, lying relaxed and warm on a bank of soft pillows, her mind wandered inevitably back to Matthew.

She thought about the feeling of him pressing her against the hard, uneven wall of the castle and tried to imagine if it had been a soft bed instead. Her heart contracted and she actually found herself running one hand gently down the sheet beside her, almost imagining the sensation. This was absurd! She jumped out of bed, disgusted with her lack of self-control. Anyway, she knew what it would feel like; she had been pressed into pillows before. But she did not want to remember that. The experiences were so different that she could hardly believe that by literal definition they would be classed as the same thing. It would be nice, she thought, smoothing her nightgown down as she stepped further away from the bed and it pooled round her feet, to have a proper way of comparing the two... the castle wall had not really been comparable. Then she physically turned as if to disassociate herself from her thoughts. Her heart was beating far too fast.

With the strength of sudden decision, she pulled a blanket off the bed and wrapped herself in it, as a child might have done, covering herself from neck to toe, and walked over to the window, dragging it behind her. Clasping it under her chin, she pulled the curtains half open and looked out over the dark bay. The sea was very calming. Perhaps its cold, detached beauty would cool her.

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><p>Matthew was absolutely restless. He was trying, trying so hard, but he couldn't stop thinking about Mary. He had chatted, he had smiled and joked, he had stalked around the room, he had taken some more air on the terrace - though that had only served to strengthen and hone his thoughts on her. His hands, arms, body, lips seemed to burn from the memory of her touch alone. It was unbearable. Now, he was standing listening to Edith wax lyrical about her last two dance partners again - he got the distinct feeling that she had been keener than they - and could bear the stifling atmosphere no longer.<p>

As soon as she had finished talking, he jumped in. "I'm sorry," he looked apologetically at them all, "I'm very tired after walking today - I think the sea air has caught up with me. If you'll excuse me, I think I'll turn in."

Thankfully, no-one seemed to think this strange or offer any protest, and he made his exit with great relief.

Upon reaching the quiet, softly lit lobby, he hesitated. She had not been _ill_; he knew that she was simply flustered from their embrace on the terrace – wasn't she? The look she had flashed him had seemed to reflect his longing - or was that simply his memory exaggerating it? He was tormented, he couldn't bear it… and now in the peaceful quiet of the lobby, with little distraction, his mind once again shifted to the memory of her body against him, around him… his entire body burned with desire. Without really thinking about it, he started walking, his feet unconsciously following the route he had remembered until he realised with quite a shock that he was outside her door. She must be in bed already, it would be absolutely unthinkable to... But he was already softly knocking.

Mary realised there was knocking several moments after it began and turned away from the window frowning. It was late, though there were still a few sounds drifting up from below. Perhaps her mother had come to check on her. Or perhaps... She did not dare complete that thought. She padded back over to the bed, glanced at her alarm clock which gave the time as after eleven, picked up the solitary candle on the bedside table and padded over the door. Gripping the blankets by her chin, she turned the key and opened it a fraction, whispering, "Who is it?"

His heart hammered in his chest as a tiny slit of light appeared through the door. He panicked suddenly; why had he come, really? Was it terribly obvious? Of course it was... He steeled himself for a slam in the face; it was all he deserved!

"It's me," he whispered in a hushed voice, then added (as if it needed clarification), "Matthew."

At the sound of his low voice, her heart jumped and she hesitated. Every ounce of her good breeding told her to close the door in his face. But the experience that told her to do so also acknowledged that the fact he was not pushing his way in to her room and demanding her submission. And it was this distinction that made her pull the door wide enough for him to step through in silence. She immediately took the blanket back in her hands. Being enveloped in a large grey blanket was hardly going to be her most attractive look but clutching it with her chin was quite a lot worse. Anyway, the alternative would be standing there in nothing but her nightdress and she was strangely shy of that. When he was inside, she pushed the door shut with her foot and looked up at him in silence. Perhaps they would just talk; they needed to. He had just come to see if she was alright. Yet she made no move to initiate a conversation.

Standing there in her room, Matthew felt very odd. Several facts occurred to him at once. He was in her bedroom. They were alone. She was (underneath that blanket, he was sure) wearing only a nightdress. Her hair was loose. She was beautiful. And he had no idea what to do. All he could hear was his heart and his breath, but she was looking at him expectantly and he supposed he must say something.

"I don't know why I've come," he eventually shrugged, his voice quiet. What was he hoping for? Well, he knew what he hoped, without the desire even fully formulated in his heart but surely that was impossible, only a dream... A cold panic gripped his stomach and he was suddenly terrified; of what, he wasn't sure. "I shouldn't have, I'm sorry -" He looked pleadingly at her for _something_, some reassurance or justification.

Somehow his obvious nervousness and the sense that he felt the same incomprehension of the situation as she did reassured her. She felt instantly calmer just for having him in front of her again. Was that not strange? She did not reply for a moment, then she smiled, not her brilliant social smile, but a slow, real one that reached her eyes.

"I was looking out of the window. My room looks out over the bay."

She tilted her head in the direction of the window in invitation, before turning round and walking back towards it, carefully placing the candle on the chest as she passed it, the blanket dragging behind her like a heavy and unwieldy train.

Well, she hadn't thrown him out - he was still slightly surprised by the fact. Though his heart fluttered with nerves, a warm calm had begun to creep over him as she smiled at him and crossed to the window. After only a moment he followed, and stood behind her. Then - seeming somehow just as intimate as what they had shared - he stepped closer, slipped his arms around her waist and the blanket and rested his chin on her shoulder. His gaze swept across the view.

"It's beautiful," he whispered. Standing with her like this, he felt perfectly content. Whatever else he wondered that they should talk about seemed to slip from his mind.

Her skin prickled with awareness as he came to stand behind her and then she sighed as his arms went round her, strong and secure, and she felt that feeling of utter peace and rightness wash over her again. Oh, he put her on edge so much, but it was a better tension than what she felt when they were in company or even when she was alone. But she did not want to analyse that. They did not have long together and she did not want to waste it with uncomfortable thought. She leaned back against him and pressed her face against his cheek, feeling its warm smoothness and smiling as she could feel his jaw move as he spoke.

"You can see a boat," she murmured. "There, where the light is flashing!"

He smiled as she leaned against him. The comforting warmth had now spread all through him, quite different from the burning heat of desire, though he was still faintly aware of that too, ever present.

"So you can," he said softly. He felt as though he were indulging her; he liked it. On a sudden whim he turned and pressed his lips to her soft cheek, hugging his arms a little tighter about her. The simple gesture felt perfectly natural.

Oh, she thought she would burst from his tenderness! She did not deserve it. She wanted hold him, let him know how grateful she was, how much she appreciated it. Letting go of the blanket which stayed in place thanks to his body pressing against hers from behind, she placed her arms over his on her belly and rubbed her thumbs gently against the fresh, clean material of his dinner jacket.

She sighed a little. "I'm afraid I made a fool of myself downstairs, Matthew."

The feel of her in his arms was so wonderfully sweet, he was so lost in her that it took a moment for her words to register. He raised his eyebrows a little, a fond smile tugging at his lips.

"Did you? No more than me, I'm quite sure!"

She shook her head and her shoulders contracted in a little, amused shrug.

"Oh, not as much as me. I should be better at concealing my feelings. After all," she continued, "I fancy I have had more practice than you."

She lowered her head and smiled suddenly. He was so open! So very different to her, but she could not resist saying what she thought to him. After all, he had heard her moan in ecstasy. In that context, it was hard to find a place for hypocrisy in her dealings with him.

"Perhaps. I think we got away with it, though!"

He breathed deeply, letting her sweet scent wash over him. "This is nice," he murmured. Carefully he untugged one arm from around her waist and began to play with her hair, twisting it gently and combing his fingers through it. It was so soft, and dark, and thick; it was completely entrancing. To take such a liberty with her thrilled him, and he sighed softly.

She bit her lip to stop the laugh. _Nice_? It was more than nice. It was the best thing she had ever felt in her life and she was not just thinking about the present moment. Then his hand went to her hair and she closed her eyes. His fingers were so gentle, more so than in her fantasies. She let him continue to play for a few moments before interrupting became utterly irresistible.

She laughed suddenly, a low, unexpectedly seductive sound from deep inside her. "If you only knew what I was thinking about when I should have been paying attention to your conversation with Sybil!"

His hand froze in her hair. Trembling a little, he turned his face more toward her, closing his eyes and nuzzling gently into her neck.

"What were you thinking about?" he murmured as he began to trail soft kisses along her smooth skin.

"Ah!" she cried quietly, as she felt his lips on her skin and the hand covering his arm tightened.

She should stop him now and send him back to his room. He had come to see her, they had talked and resolved the issues of earlier in the evening; this had to end now. Instead she found herself tilting her head to one side to give him better access to her neck and replying, once her breath was under control again, "Just what you were doing, darling. If I had not pushed you away on the terrace, what might have happened..." Her eyes drifted shut and she trailed off.

His heart lurched sharply, in the most pleasant way, at her understated expression of affection. Heat was pulsing through him, building slowly but steadily… He recognised it now, and welcomed it. Already, to be with her like this felt so natural and… somehow inevitable.

"Oh?" He grazed his lips back up along her neck, unconsciously adding tiny licks now between kisses, till he reached her ear and nipped it softly between his teeth.

"What do you think might have happened?" he whispered heatedly, his hand twisted into her hair still holding it aside.

She gasped sharply again. All her awareness seemed centred in her neck and the place where Matthew's lips and tongue and teeth met her skin, though the bolts of heat that they inspired she could feel tingle all through her body. She began to rub his arm more firmly and quickly. The desire to touch him and be closer to him was becoming overwhelming and she started to regret the blanket. Still, she fought against it, finding something strangely pleasurable in being denied a deeper connection to him.

"Oh..." she breathed, her reply coming in short bursts, "You pulled every pin out of my hair one by one until it was all down, as it is now. Then, then you ran your fingers through it... and your hands were in my hair and you pulled me towards you..." She broke off, shuddering and swallowing.

"Don't stop..." he whispered again, more fervently.

His hands, no not just his hands but every single inch of him was itching to touch her more, explore her more fully, but he held off in tantalising anticipation. He eased himself back a fraction, just enough to let the blanket drop fully, before pulling her tightly back against him, his hand clutching and releasing the thin material of her nightdress.

She hissed in disappointment as he pulled away from her but understood as the blanket fell to the ground and it was so much better when he pulled her back against him. She could feel everything through her nightdress... and she pushed back against him, heart fluttering.

"There's not much more to say," she whispered. "You kissed me with your hands in my hair..."

He did, reluctantly, step back from her then - only in order to turn her to face him. His hands cupped her face and he gazed darkly into her eyes, skimming down briefly to appreciate the image (the reality) of her in nothing but her nightdress.

He moistened his lips. "A little like this, do you mean?"

And then he kissed her, his hands tracing back over her face before delving into her hair, running his fingers all through it and clutching her against him with his hands fisted into it.

"Yes, just like that," she replied against his lips, her mouth moving against his.

Kissing him seemed as necessary as breathing and she drank him in as if it had been longer than a few hours since they had last kissed. (How had she gone two days without it?) The feel of her hair loose and tumbling around her shoulders and his hands in it, his fingers pressing against her scalp was somehow one of the most wonderful things she had ever experienced. It made her feel oddly loosened. To kiss Matthew here where they could not be disturbed with her hair down and with the feeling of him so close to her through the nightdress – it was so much better than the castle. She gave a little mew of contentment in the back of her throat, and wound her arms tightly round his neck.

He sighed into her mouth, tilted his head to deepen the kiss, shifted again to find a new angle of exploration. She was warm and soft and wonderful against him, and he gave in to her completely. This time he wouldn't need to ask if she was sure; he knew it already, her every move and touch and sound testified to it. Carefully he brought his hands out of her hair, sliding them over her shoulders and down her sides before wrapping around her waist. Her nightdress was so thin that he could feel the warmth of her skin underneath… and he wanted to feel more.

Tentatively at first his hands started to roam, around her hips and down with the gentlest squeeze… up and down her slender sides, across her warm tummy then up… his fingers glancing lightly over her breasts before sliding down and firmly round her waist once more.

What little vestige of self-control she had left, she lost as his fingers traced paths of fire over her body. As his hands skimmed over her breasts she tore her mouth away from his to gasp in shocked pleasure. Kemal had pawed at her briefly in that area and the effect had been decidedly unappealing. But this gentle touch that was all too brief was quite different... She tipped her head away, pressing open mouthed kisses to his jawline and arching her back. But it was not enough. She wanted to kiss his throat as he had kissed hers but his collar was in the way. Her hands round his neck moved to the front and, trembling, she slid them under his jacket and pushed it away, meeting his eyes as she did so with a dark, hungry gaze.

Every single thing about her and that she was doing was driving him wild. He met her gaze squarely, willing and begging her to continue. His lips were parted as he heaved in steadying breaths, before he succumbed and pulled her lips fiercely back to his… shrugging his jacket off his shoulders and shaking his arms out of it before his hands returned to her body, warm and trembling under his touch.

Part of Mary's mind had the idea that this was some kind of final opportunity to stop this. While he remained dressed they could brush it off, pretend it didn't happen... Well, the jacket was off now and she couldn't regret it. Not when it brought her one step closer to being able to touch his skin, which she had not even realised had been her aim. She returned his kiss for several, long moments, but it was still not enough, and she broke from him again and leaned back as far as she could within the confines of his arms.

"For goodness sake!" she muttered breathlessly, as her fingers went to his bow tie and started to pull at it with one hand while her other started on the buttons of his waistcoat. Unfortunately undoing men's clothing had not been part of her education.

She raised her eyes to his. "Help me! I want-"

Surely what she wanted was patently obvious, and the longer she spent fiddling with this, the longer it would be before he could kiss her again.

A nearly cripplingly strong wave of arousal washed over him at her plea; an open admission that she wanted him. Swallowing, he tugged his bow tie off then swiftly worked at his waistcoat until he could shrug himself free of it. He felt hot and stifled, desperately needing to be rid of it, craving to feel her skin against his. Down to his shirt, he paused and grinned at her, flushed with anticipated excitement.

"Better?"

Her eyes flickered over his torso, taking in the tantalising hint of fair hairs peeking over the top of his shirt, the outline of his chest and finally resting on his exposed throat. Biting her lip, she returned his grin, suddenly felt incredibly happy to be where she was with him doing what they were doing. The voice of propriety and restraint was thoroughly hushed. She lowered her face to his neck, her hair falling in waves on either side and tickling his chest, and she pressed her lips deliberately to the exposed skin in a lingering kiss. Then she looked up at him again with mischievous joy.

"Almost..." she breathed as her arms went round his waist and tugged at his shirt until it was pulled out of his trousers. She rested her trembling hands lightly on his waist and smiled, flicking her eyebrows in challenge at him.

He gasped as she tugged out his shirt. She was so... visceral, so determined, so far removed from her usual cool persona - and the idea that it was only for him was thrilling. He was sorely tempted to just rip the whole thing off at her challenge but, in a rare (it seemed now) moment of sense, he simply raised an eyebrow and, tantalisingly slowly, removed his cufflinks instead.

So that was how he was going to play it. She did nothing. She just watched as he removed each cufflink, her eyes following his fingers with a cool detachment she did not feel (but she was very good at playing games though she had never considered them in this context) and her hands remained still on his waist. Only the steady, rapid rise and fall of chest displayed any of her emotion.

His cufflinks dropped to the ground. He was impressed at her coolness; he was impressed at his own appearance of it. When she made no further move to undress him, he heaved an exaggerated sigh.

"Really, Mary. I know you have a maid, but don't you even know how to undo a shirt?"

Still she made no move but shook her head, a playful smile on her face.

"No. It was never considered a suitable part of my education!" She dropped her voice, almost alarmed at how easily this came to her, this adoption of a role - but what a role! "Perhaps you could show me?"

His lips twitched, his eyes were sparkling. It was a game; an impossible, fantastical game. A dream.

Very quietly, under his breath, he muttered, "You win."

Gazing heatedly at her, he slowly undid each button, working his way down with great care and deliberation. His entire body was twitching, aching for her - it was unbearable but exquisite. He was… Lord, to think of it! Many, countless times before had he undressed himself – to undo his own shirt was quite a natural thing, but – to do so at Mary's demand… Purely because _she_ wanted to see him, and touch him, she wanted _him_… Somehow to see her watching him do so made him breathless with arousal.

She watched his reaction and his unbuttoning fondly, with only a small moment of natural triumph which she felt every time she got her way in anything. The fondness turned to a stronger desire however, as more of his chest was revealed, a breathless longing only increased by the realisation that he was doing it all for her and for her alone. Her eyes roamed over its shadowy expanse as she pushed his shirt off his shoulders.

"Well done, dear!" she murmured and placed her palm flat over his heart, the feeling of skin on skin thrilling her unbearably.

She was wound up - for the interlude had only increased her tension - and she knew what it was she was waiting for, what it was she longed for. She looked up at him then, the laughter gone from her expression but before she met his eyes, she looked behind him, at where her bed loomed in the darkness. It was going to happen and just as she had imagined it. That thought alone and the images it conveyed made her knees buckle with sudden desire and she grabbed his arm with her other hand to steady herself bringing herself ridiculously close to him again, her breasts brushing his chest with every breath she took. She met his eyes now.

Matthew could bear it no longer; as she almost fell against him and looked up at him, he leaned forwards and kissed her. He kissed her slowly and deeply, unhurriedly, relishing the taste of her that was fast becoming so deliciously familiar to him. His hands bunched into her nightdress and began to drag it firmly up over her hips and, when it was high enough, he slipped his hands under it. Slowly, deliberately, he traced back the path he had taken before… round her hips and down, then up her sides and over her breasts but more firmly this time, less tentative. One hand remained there, fingers teasing gently while his other encircled her waist again under her gown as he carried on kissing her, more and more deeply and desperately with each passing moment.

If there had been a joke, it was now on her for she could no longer attempt to tease him, only respond with increasing gasps and moans to what he was doing to her. She was not sure she could remain standing for long, even half leaning against him as she was. Her kisses became sloppier, more and more open and demanding until they were hardly kisses at all and she began to tremble in his arms. Heat was growing and spreading through her body and she desperately tried to rid herself of this need, pushing against him, putting herself entirely under his control.

Somehow, it was only just seeping through to Matthew's desire-fogged brain exactly what he was doing. His hands were moving of their own accord, fuelled by the raw yearning within him - he was touching her in such a way as he had never consciously imagined. Heat lurched through him in waves. Her skin was soft, warm, pulsing, and his hands were on her... On her breast, on the smooth curve of her hip, stroking and teasing until he could practically feel her tingling under his touch. She was kissing him with such passionate abandon; his lips and tongue clashed against hers with no restraint, and oh, the sweetness of her made him shudder.

Mary's hands gripped and stroked his back and shoulders and neck with abandon. There was a fine sheen of sweat on his skin now and her hands seemed to slip easily on it. She could not get enough of touching him. And his hands seemed everywhere on her body; she could not keep track for she could feel him everywhere. Her breasts tingled as she had never imagined they could, so much so that his touch was almost painful. An ache was developing deep within her that felt familiar yet so much stronger than anything she had experienced previously and she was so much more aware of it. Her need for him was overwhelming. Nothing was sufficient however much she pressed herself against him and shifted to try to get as close as possible and mould herself to him. She _needed_ him. Eventually, hooking one arm round his neck to try to steady herself for she was trembling so much she could hardly stand, she opened her eyes and tried to focus on his flushed face, her eyes resting helplessly on his swollen lips. She grasped at his cheek with her other hand, her thumb rubbing over it with short, jerky movements.

"Matthew!" she gasped out in a low shuddering breath and trying to meet his eyes but not quite succeeding. "Matthew, please... take me to bed!"

He stared at her a moment, his eyes wild and dark in barely comprehensible need. His hands were still upon her under her nightdress. Nodding with a slight jerk of his head, he couldn't formulate words and simply made a low, almost animalistic noise in the back of his throat. Placing another searing kiss on her lips he stepped away, then paused… On a sudden impulse he hooked his hands into her nightdress and tugged at it, lifting it up and over her shoulders and her head. Blood pulsed and throbbed through every single vein of his body as his eyes roved hungrily over her, glittering darkly. She was beyond anything his imagination could have conjured and she was _here_ and in front of him and it was too much.

She swayed where she stood, her toes curling into the carpet. She was too far gone in her desire to feel embarrassed at her nakedness. Indeed, she could feel his gaze on her almost like a physical touch and it only increased it. Her breathing came shallowly and she reached out for him again.

Matthew sighed aloud and licked his lips - she was too beautiful, too utterly perfect... And he needed her desperately. Looking at her unashamedly, he longed to explore and get to know intimately every single inch of that perfect, creamy marble skin. Of _Mary_. Without a word he took her hand and turned, leading her towards her bed. It was _her_ bed, and he was about to join her in it and feel her and taste her in it... Every step she took to the bed was too slow. She wanted her arms touching him again - they were too far away - and she wanted... He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand and glanced at her. His hands moved to tenderly stroke across her cheeks then down to her shoulders, pushing her gently down onto the bed before kicking his shoes off and climbing over her.

She sank down in relief onto the pillows... She wanted him above her, and on top of her – it was a sudden primal need from deep inside and she reached up and pulled him onto the bed too, as she squirmed to get comfortable among the duvet and blankets. Half leaning up and half pulling him down from his shoulders, she pressed a deep, heated kiss to his lips as she ran her hands down his back pulling him closer and more on top of her at every stage. Bolts of desire shot through her as she felt more and more of his body cover hers. When she reached his waist band, however, her hands moved to the front and began to fiddle with the buckle until it was done. She pushed his trousers and underwear down together, leaving her hands on his hips and pulling him more towards her.

Matthew gasped and moaned against her lips at the determination with which she unclothed him, leaving him... entirely naked over her. He kicked his legs out of the restricting clothes and leaned down to kiss her with wild, longing desperation - but still held himself over her, resisting. It seemed too momentous to ignore... Suddenly he dragged his lips away, kneeling at her side and allowed his eyes to slowly, wantonly trace over every curve of her body, spread out beside him, at last with nothing hidden. His heart was racing, he felt as though he were lost in a dream - that if he were to touch her it would shatter.

She moaned involuntarily as he left off kissing her. Her lips burned for him and she found herself physically shaking with tension as her eyes dipped down his body. It was one thing, after all, to know, quite another to _see_. Her eyes widened slightly but any nerves she might have felt were easily squashed in memory and desire. She lifted her eyes to his face and raised her eyebrows at him with a half smile, almost a smirk, before looking back down, her fingers twitching at her sides. A breathless, nervous chuckle left Matthew's lips as he saw her reaction to him. It was as empowering as it was terrifying, and before he could think any more about _that_ (how could he be shy, now?) he licked his lips and returned his attentions to Mary's own body.

Watching his own hand with a sort of tortured fascination, he laid his palm flat on her stomach. With gentle pressure he slid his hand up, up the centre of her chest… up further, tipping his fingers over her chin to her mouth, where she caught them between her lips and sucked deeply before letting them slip out, then trailing them down again, circling tantalisingly over her breasts and down. He could feel her body trembling beneath his touch and it and it felt... He didn't know _how_ it felt, like fire was lancing through his veins, and it was pure, wonderful torture. He barely dared to breathe as his hand skimmed across her hip, as his other entwined with her fingers tightly, holding onto her with a need to ground himself somehow as his head was spinning so enthrallingly. Now he ran his hand down her thigh, squeezing gently... back up the inside of her thigh, it was so warm; he could feel the heat radiating from her skin... His breath hissed involuntarily as he reached the top of her inner thigh and his fingers slid tentatively into the warmth he found there, eyes glazing over. He felt faint with the startling intimacy of it, it was so much… _more_.

Mary's trembling only increased as he ran his hand over her body with sure and hot pressure. She felt rigid with need and want and her eyes pressed tightly together. She was unable to understand why he did not simply do as she wished and her hand flailed out towards him snatching at air, wanting to draw him back to her, but at the same time, she relished this tension and the long-drawn out, sweet agony of it. Then with sudden shock she felt his hand, was aware of him pressing against her so intimately that she cried out at it, tipping her head back against the pillow almost with force. Her eyes snapped open and she stared at him open mouthed. There were no possible words.

Her reaction sent shock waves of need through him. To realise the effect he had on her, that it was _him_ and the touch of his own fingers that made her writhe and flush and cry out... It all washed over him and he bent his head and kissed her fiercely, pushing her back into the pillows. His fingers lingered on her and… in her, testing and exploring as she squirmed and clenched under him, relishing in her warmth and when he finally brought his hand back up to clasp her face, he realised with a detached part of his mind that they were moist.

It was too much and it was not enough… His hands started to roam over her again and it was still not enough to satisfy him; though his very core was burning with need he wanted to _know_ her. He dragged his lips from hers and renewed his exploration with his mouth. His tongue slid across her hot skin, he kissed her and sucked at her, grazed his teeth so lightly over her; lingering on her breasts, then down again, down over her hip, along her thigh... His lips took the same path as his hand had moments before. He kissed up, up, easing her thighs apart with his hands as he went... For a brief second he paused, lifting his eyes tentatively to hers… before he gave in and allowed his tongue to flick lightly across her.

Mary was no longer able to tell what precisely he was doing. She no longer tried. Wave after wave of pure pleasure rolled through her leaving her rigid and shaking under him. He was too far down, she could no longer touch him so she clutched at various bits of bedding, clenching and releasing it in her hands. Her breath came in little gasps. She did not even dare contemplate what he was doing, how he thought to do it and what it could mean. She was too far gone for that, wanting him only to stop, to continue, she did not even know.

It was as though they were somehow separate from all else in time and space. She was not the daughter of an earl, he was not the heir to an estate, they were not at the coast, they were not... anything, apart from simply two people in one bed who were sharing in the most heady, intoxicating bliss that was beyond even his imagination. His eyes closed and everything else faded... He felt her shuddering underneath him as some primal instinct within him took over and his lips and tongue scorched over the soft, pulsing warmth between her legs. Shifting closer, he sought greater access, his mouth open as he drank of her like the sweetest poison. He clutched at her hip with one hand as she jerked against his mouth. It wasn't enough... Boldly, his mind utterly clouded with arousal beyond all rationality, his fingers grazed along her thigh again, glanced tentatively for a moment then… delved into her, probing and stroking her in time with his lips.

"Matthew!" she cried, gasping out his name as a spasm shot through her so strong it lifted her back right off the bed. He was under her, over her, in her, around her, yet it was not possible... She stretched one shuddering arm blindly downwards and managed to grab at his hair, not caring for his pain in her need to feel him in her own hands.

As her body bucked and jerked ever more violently, Matthew held desperately onto her hip with his arm hooked around her leg. His fingers and tongue continued to work upon her, his eyes were screwed tight shut in concentration and pleasure and his breath gasped raggedly against her... More shudders rocked her until she collapsed back on the bed, trembling and spent.

Eventually he felt her calm and relax, and he pressed several slow, languid kisses to her in unthinkable intimacy. Feeling a little spent himself from the exertion, he uncurled his arm from her leg and slipped his fingers out of her and, his shoulders shaking with shallow breaths, he kissed his way back up her body with an increasing hunger. Riding high on the exhilaration of having caused her satisfaction, he became aware once more of his own arousal, so strong it was almost painful. He reached her lips and kissed her deeply, gingerly resting his weight onto her... then raised his head. His eyes glittered with a dark hunger, his lips were parted and he was trembling as his hand stroked over her hair. Overcome with desperate need, his eyes pleaded with her for release.

Mary opened her eyes eventually when he kissed her, a burning kiss tasting of – tasting of... to which she could only respond by allowing it and opening her mouth to him. Aftershocks ran through her still, causing little tremors at intervals. She looked up into his face looming over her and it took a moment for her eyes to focus. A great, pleasant warmth was spreading all through her. She felt deliciously relaxed, though the gentle spasms reminded her of the desire that could only be ever-present when so close to him. Her eyes trailed over his shining, flushed face. He held himself so tensely and a feeling of deep affection mingled with need washed over her. She raised one heavy hand and cupped his cheek and smiled softly.

"Oh, Matthew," she sighed in a whisper, "oh, my dearest Matthew..."

She slid her hand behind his neck and pulled him back down to her lips. She felt so utterly content and ready for him though she could not articulate the feeling. Shifting a little under him, she managed to hook on leg over his and pull him towards her more that way as well. A deep groan was the only response he could muster.

He ached for her, yearned for her, a longing deep within him that could only be satisfied by her. At every point their bare skin touched, thrills of fire seemed to burn him with anticipation. Still kissing her deeply, leaning slightly on his elbows and clasping her face, he instinctively positioned himself over her and, agonisingly slowly, eased his hips down and towards her until he was completely encompassed by her. The sensation sent bolts of sharp desire jolting through him from head to toe and he moaned into her mouth. Once he had settled within her - relishing the feel of her for a blissful moment - he began to shift, slowly, over and over, drawing his torturous pleasure out. He tucked his face into her shoulder, clenching his teeth and screwing his eyes shut as waves of sensation flooded over him, drowning out the world. There was only her, and him, completely one, in the most thrilling union.

As he slid inside her, she let out an almost continuous moan of fulfillment from the very back of her throat. She was still too languid to do anything initially except move enough to make them both more comfortable, while her fingers played in his hair and on the back of his neck but it was not long before his slow, deep rhythm began to raise prickly desire in her once again. Compared to the castle, he touched her so much more deeply, she could feel every tiny movement and it sent flares of heat shooting all through her causing her to gasp again. Her hands tightened in his hair a moment before she slowly moved them down his back, running them over his sides and hips as she had not yet had the opportunity to do, relishing the feel of him hot and slick against her before grasping him more tightly and pulling him even further within her, moaning his name as she felt the effects, and she began to move against him, rising to meet him with increasing desire.

Every sense was alive and pulsing and prickling. He could hear his name on her lips, feel her hot and tight around him and her hands clutching him, smell the intoxicating mix of sweat and _her_, taste her still in his mouth... Gasping as her hips jerked against him, the sharp pleasure it bore, he raised his head sharply to meet her dark eyes. He stared at her wantonly, hungrily, his face etched with intense passion… holding her gaze as he pushed deeper within her, a little faster now.

"Mary..." he trailed into a low grunt, thrusting hard against her. "Oh, god, Mary..." Again. "You're..." Again, more urgently. "Oh, god..." He rocked against her, with more fervour, more intensity, more desperate need as he clutched at her hair, trying to look at her still but unable to prevent his eyes hooding over and his jaw clenching as sharp waves of pleasure flowed over him, building and building.

She could feel him letting go above her and it inspired a similar freedom in her. He was no longer Matthew but some kind of instinctive being, terrifying and exhilarating. And yet he had never been so thrillingly Matthew. She wrapped her legs fully round him, constantly aching for even more closeness, and her arms round his back. Instinctively she knew what it took to encourage him and she responded desperately to each thrust, her own pleasure mounting as she did so. His chant of her name only increased the depth of her passion, rooting their actions in their very identities. Suddenly, even this intimacy was not enough and she leaned up, capturing his words and lips with hers in a bruising and possessive kiss. As another wave of heat poured over her, she dug her nails into his back and pressed her eyes tremblingly closed.

Every sensation flooded his perception; it felt as though he were drowning. Mary... It was _Mary_ and her legs were tight around his waist, pulling him deeper into her, and it was so unbearably wonderful... Every breath tore from his chest in a ragged grunt of passion, building in intensity along with his movements. He curled his arms under her shoulders and gripped them tightly, hanging onto her almost for dear life as he threw himself against her, he could feel her breasts pressed against his chest and her heart beating faster and faster in time with his and she was so tight around him...

Suddenly it was too much; stars burst behind his eyes and wave after wave of pleasure washed over him as he fell apart over her, in her, against her. He cried out, the raw sound muffled into her neck, hips slamming into her over and over as he lost control. It was a most glorious sensation, feeling him spasm within her. It was so much better now; enclosed so deeply in his arms, she could hardly tell where she left off and he began. Mary's own body began to spasm again and she eventually convulsed around him again, crying out low and instinctively the first syllable of his name as her nails dug in deeper to his back. It soon became too intense, so sharp a sensation he was forced to slow… Shaking, he thrust leisurely once or twice more, gasping and jerking with each movement, before he finally collapsed slightly to her side. His shoulders heaved up and down as he gasped for air and she rocked back and forth with him eventually falling back again, her hair damp on her forehead. Her legs remained rigidly clasped round him aching with the effort as she jerked several more times and her eyes remained closed.

Her heavy breaths fell hot upon his cheek; he could feel her chest rise and fall under his own. His throat felt thick and tight, his limbs heavy, his senses shrouded as through a thick blanket. It was wonderful. Occasional shudders flitted through him, causing his breath to catch still as the last vestiges of the heady pleasure faded and cooled. Eventually, he pushed up slightly onto his elbows – still so aware of her body so completely encompassing him – and gazed at her flushed face, the faint sheen of sweat making her skin glitter. Tenderly, he raised a hand and brushed the damp strands of hair from her face. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came yet. Nothing seemed enough.

Mary remained still for a long time as her breathing slowed and her mind began to exert itself. Tremors continued to shake her at intervals but eventually she unclasped her legs and slowly (for they ached) moved them down his body. Then his hand brushed across her face and she opened her eyes, meeting his instantly. She just looked at him, taking in the deep blueness of them. She could not say what she saw in them except that it felt so profound, so close, so important that she could not look away. Even as she did so though, feeling came back to her. She felt damp and hot and, oh, she ached! But she still could not look away from him.

To look at her, to meet her eyes and feel the connection between them, was almost too much after what they had done. What they had done... If what had passed between them at the castle had been intimate, this was... far beyond anything within the realm of Matthew's comprehension. Trembling, he leaned down and pressed a warm, tender kiss to her forehead then flopped over onto his back, eyes closed. Unwilling to accept the loss of contact, his hand reached blindly for hers until their fingers were tightly entwined between them. He moistened his dry lips and quietly breathed, "Are you alright?" His lips barely moved as he spoke, the effort was too much.

She made a little, exhausted noise of disappointment as he withdrew from her and moved away, closing her eyes for a moment, and returned his clasp tightly. Her front, now exposed and damp with sweat felt cold. She felt overwhelmed by sensation and, unable to comprehend it, turned on her side and curled against him, resting her other hand across his chest which she could still feel rise and fall with deep breaths. She was unable, now, to feel shy about it, after what they had shared and she felt too relaxed and, well, happy to process the significance of it all.

"Alright?" Her lips curved into a smile (her voice was as hoarse as his). "I'm not sure that's the most appropriate word!" She pressed a kiss to his chest.

He smiled. With her lying curled against him, he tugged his hand free of hers and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, his hand coming up to comb gently through her hair. His other hand traced soft patterns along her arm. Lying like this with her, their legs tangled together in the damp sheets and holding each other closely, several things began to turn over in his mind (still dulled and fogged in blissful satisfaction). They were lovers... there was no doubting that now. They had made love... twice. And that was the right term for it, he was sure; for he could not imagine the act performed with any greater tenderness or depth of emotion than they had. As these things occurred to him, and he considered what utter perfection it was to lie with her like this, one single thought seeped through clearly to the forefront of his mind, undeniable, seeming suddenly so very obvious. He turned his head slightly and kissed the top of her head.

"Mary..." he murmured gently into her hair, then hesitated. Eventually... "I love you."

As his arm came round her, she felt, despite the stickiness and the slight outer chill, so very warm and enclosed by him and protected and loved. Yes. Loved. It was such a delicious sensation, as if nothing could ever go wrong and when he spoke it blended in with her physical comfort, causing her heart to contract and warmth to spread but no other surprise except that, strangely and inexplicably, tears started to her eyes. Her hand on his chest tightened a little and she rubbed gently with her thumb, enjoying the feeling of his skin under her palm. She expelled a breath as if she had been holding it and pressed another lingering kiss to his chest, huddling closer.

A soft sigh left his chest as he felt her lips soft against his skin. How long they lay together like that, he had no idea; he didn't care, wasn't thinking about anything other than the warm, encompassing sensation of her in his arms. Oh, how he wished they could remain wrapped together in the same manner forever... But slowly, gradually, sense began to creep through his pleasantly dulled mind. He tried to bat it away, to ignore it, to concentrate again on the feel of her lying against him; her damp skin against his... But he knew he must heed it. His hand traced across her cheek, tickling gently, and he shifted his shoulders ever so slightly, to alert her.

"Mary, I... I must go," he whispered regretfully.

She had almost fallen asleep. The tears that had come to her eyes had not fallen but still remained there and she blinked them away as he shifted under her. Go? Why? It would be inconceivable to lose him now! She did not want to accept it. She did not want to wake up. A part of her brain saw it as self-delusion but she ignored it. Raising her head from his chest she met his eyes.

"Must you? I wish you could stay with me..."

He tilted his head up to meet her eyes, her beautiful dark eyes that seemed filled with something... Sadness? Longing? He sighed gently.

"I..." He would give anything to stay, to fall asleep here with her in his arms. "I really should... But, I..." Could it do so much harm? "For a little while, perhaps. I can't stay 'til morning though Mary, I want to but... surely you must see that it's impossible."

She sighed. Of course it was impossible... though her mind rebelled against thinking of such coarse, everyday things as maids and trains and the like that she knew would only bother her if she let herself dwell on them. Then her gaze fell on her alarm clock. Her eyes narrowed slightly. She half sat up and leaned over him to pick it off the table, prompting a soft groan to escape Matthew's lips as his eyes narrowed in pleasure. He was really too weary to do anything about it, but, oh he could still appreciate her...

It was a largish alarm with two clappers. Holding it up and peering at it she worked off one of the clappers with her nails so that it might be even more muffled and then looked back up at him.

"Would three o'clock in the morning be suitable?" she asked him with just a touch of smugness in her tone but also a bit of nerves at the idea of what she was asking.

As she sank back down beside him Matthew blinked and licked his lips, then turned slightly towards her, raising an eyebrow at her suggestiveness. His lips curved into an appreciative smile.

"Quite suitable, yes," he murmured softly. He was barely able to process the warm bliss that spread throughout him at the prospect.

She smiled back, feeling a kind of fizzy elation bubble through her. "Good!" She pulled away from him to put the set alarm under two rounds of pillows on her side of the bed. Well, it wasn't the side she usually slept on... how strange! The pillows were fresh and unpressed. But it seemed to be the side she would sleep on tonight. The thought was... odd... exciting... Then she remembered the candle. She turned back to him and laid her hand on his arm (it had been too long since she had touched him).

"Matthew, will you get the candle and blow it out? Otherwise you will not be able to see when you wake."

And he would need to find his clothes... She felt herself flush as sudden memory resurfaced.

"Of course..."

He had quite forgotten about the candle. Without thinking he rolled off the bed and stood up, then suddenly paused… immediately feeling extremely aware of his nakedness. He turned to glance back at Mary, colour rising in his cheeks, before forcing himself to walk across the room to the chest by the door where the candle lay. To be unclothed beside her, pressed against her, was one thing but this! To be so exposed under her gaze... was quite another. Straightaway Mary crawled under the covers, finding them a chilly and inferior replacement to his body, lay back on the unfamiliar pillows and watched his progress across the room, her eyes tracing over his body first from the back and then from the front. Little stabs of desire, echoes of what she had felt previously, passed through her as she admired his shadowy outline and the golden highlights of his chest where the candle illuminated it.

By the time he had crept back to the bed he had just about reconciled himself to being naked; surely after what they had done together, what he had done to her... this was the most natural thing in the world. He cocked his head and smiled at her, his eyes glittering in the candlelight, before blowing it out. He placed it on the bedside cabinet and she felt the unfamiliar weight on the bed as he sat down and the rustle of the sheets as he slid under them. All she could see now were the glimmering pinpricks of his eyes. She met them with a wide, appreciative gaze of her own, her heart beating suddenly faster at the strangeness of the complete darkness. Leaning up on her elbow, she reached out with her hand in the direction of his shoulder and laid her hand tentatively on his arm.

Matthew paused at her touch, waiting till his eyes adjusted to the low moonlight, and began to slowly make out her features.

"Yes?" he whispered softly.

She had not wanted to say anything, for she had only been reaching out to him, establishing a contact now that they could hardly see each other.

"Nothing," she murmured back, after a blink of surprise.

Then she hesitated for the darkness was making her even sleepier, before leaning forwards and pressing her lips softly and lingeringly to his. She pulled back and lay back down on her side, her hand still on his arm, caressing it slightly.

Though so soft, the tender press of her lips to his sent a powerful wave of warmth and longing simmering right through him. He was going to bed with Mary, going to sleep with her; his mind could barely grasp the thought. Part of him thought he must be dreaming already. He slid down fully into the bed until he lay facing her; his eyes remained open a moment though he could barely see her. Tentatively he reached out now till his fingers touched her shoulder… tracing all the way down her arm until he reached her hand, where he curled his fingers between hers to retain some touch. Gently he shifted his legs to lie comfortably tangled with hers.

"Goodnight, Matthew," she whispered, much as she had done in the ballroom below several hours previously.

"Goodnight, Mary," he whispered back, drawing her hand to his lips and kissing it softly in the darkness.

She stared at his silhouette in the darkness until tiredness over came her. Moving her head a bit further down so it was bent closer to his, she eventually closed her eyes, squeezing his hand as she did so before giving herself up to sleep. It was a peculiar position to go to sleep in, she reflected as she drifted off, not quite comfortable - she would have naturally put her legs in a slightly different position and shifted a bit more than he allowed her to, but she did not want to disturb him or move any further away so she lay still and sleep claimed her anyway.

Matthew noticed her eyes close, and carried on watching her. To lie in bed like this with someone (with _Mary_) was so unnatural to him, and yet now seemed so completely normal. It did not _feel_ quite natural though, the sensation of it... But he would not have moved for the world. He watched her, heard her breathing gradually regulate and slow, saw her shoulders move gently with each breath. Strangely, he almost felt like weeping, she was so beautiful and he was so content... He blinked quickly and pressed his lips to her hand again, before taking a deep breath and forcing his eyes to close. He doubted he would sleep, but... this was enough.

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><p><em>AN: Er... yes... So. We may be hiding in our totally unplottable bat cave with paper bags over our heads but we would still love to know what you thought of it. Er, we think. Yes. Yes, we would._

_Until next time!_


	10. Chapter Nine

A/N: _Greetings, fair readers! And Happy Monday!_

_I'm fairly sure my partner in crime will agree with me in saying we were literally staggered, to put it mildly, by your responses to the previous chapter! Thank you so much. And, really, quite relieved. We tentatively peek out of the bat cave, then, to bring you this next offering - and we hope you enjoy it (just as much as they do. *cough* What?) :S_

_Enjoy! :P_

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><p><strong>Chapter Nine<strong>

The vibrations under her pillow woke Mary with a start and she acted completely on instinct, twisting in the direction of the faint ringing, sticking her hand under the pillow and pressing down on the clapper to stop the alarm and slumping back on her pillow all in one movement. Only then when her heart, surprised at being so suddenly woken, began to slow, did she take stock of her surroundings. She was very warm, unusually so. And it was pitch dark all around her, no light at all behind the curtains, dark and silent. And yet not completely silent. She heard faint breathing to her right, loud in the oppressive stillness of the room. And only then did she feel the arm still draped over her stomach as she lay on her back.

The memory of sensation flooded back before any other memory and her lips curved into a sleepy smile as she turned on her other side, careful not to dislodge the arm. She liked its heavy weight. She felt so limp. Limp and tired. Lying like this, she could feel Matthew's breath on her face for they were very close together and for a few moments she simply lay there with her hands clasped together against her chest as her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness and began to distinguish the darker contours of his head. He slept still. Her lover. Matthew. What a lovely way to wake up, she felt more than thought. How deliciously warm she was! The covers felt heavy over her and she felt cocooned by them and by his arm.

Yet as she lay there relishing it she knew that it could not last. Memory of setting the alarm would intrude and though it was difficult to think of morning in this perfect darkness, she knew that he could not remain asleep. Very tentatively so as not to accidentally poke him in the eye, she reached out and brushed his hair across his forehead. It was very smooth, both the hair and skin, and she wondered she had not noticed before.

"Matthew..." she whispered, her voice a merest breath.

She waited a second but she could perceive no change in his position or breathing. Then she let her hand trail lightly down his cheek and she leaned forward an inch to press her lips gently against his. It was an idyllic indulgence to kiss him like this at her own leisure and she lingered over them, savouring their softness and taste. Then she pulled back a tiny distance and breathed against his mouth again, "Wake up, dearest..."

Matthew couldn't remember having ever slept so soundly in his life. Having ever been so comfortable, and warm, and content. A whisper... or was it still his dream? Such a wonderful dream, it had been... of her, and him, entirely and completely together as though they were one... It was so real he felt as though he could still feel her lips upon his; tangible and sweet. At the same moment, other sensations crept through into his awareness. Warm, smooth skin under his arm, the dip of a waist... Light breath against his face... Her lips. This time he heard her whisper, and realisation and memory flooded back to him. His eyes snapped open - he could only see the glint of her eyes in the darkness - and suddenly he couldn't breathe. It was impossible, but... God, it was _real_.

Mary's face was too close to his to actually perceive his eyes opening. Hers were fixed on the shadow of his lips, slightly parted, and she closed her eyes and kissed him again, just as gently but with a little more firmness. As she did so, she trailed her hand down his shoulder and over the arm and down his side, coming to rest on his waist. She did not stop to think about the significance or advisability of her actions. She only felt that they were here and right now he was completely hers and she could do what she liked. And what she liked was to kiss him until he woke and she would have to stop. Her hand traced a little lower onto his hip.

His breath hissed softly at the sensation of her touch, his skin tingling under her fingers. Unconsciously, he shifted his arm until his hand lay warm on her waist, softly caressing her skin with his thumb. Her lips were soft and tender against his and, as he gradually came to his senses, he responded, tilting his head a little to make it easier. To be woken like this... It was blissful. Perfect. Delicious contentment settled over him.

He woke. She felt it in his sudden subtle response to her kiss and on her waist where his fingers began to caress her skin, shooting little tingles of warmth through her. She smiled against his lips, extremely happy at his response and slowly deepened the kiss, running her tongue along his lips until they parted under her. She felt so daring and controlling yet the darkness excused and his arm over her protected her and lessened the severity of her dominance. Meanwhile her hand on his hip had hesitated as he woke but now it drifted further down his leg, as far as her hand could reach and then back up to his hip, playing little patterns on his skin. Then, her hand dipped down almost without conscious decision and she touched him very lightly, her fingers just ghosting over the flesh.

Matthew gasped sharply. It had taken a moment for him to register her touch; he had been so engrossed in the sensation of her lips and... Now, the delicate intimacy of her slender, warm fingers, stroking, overwhelmed him and he felt… He didn't know how it felt, only _wonderful_, and so wholly different from any way they had touched the night before. His muscles tightened and shuddered in response. Mary's heart leapt at his instinctive reaction and she touched again, a little more boldly, exploring all along and over yet still with the lightest, more feathery of touches. So much softer than she would have expected somehow, at least so she would think afterwards when she was thinking at all.

A low hum of pleasure sounded in the back of his throat as he opened his mouth to her, welcoming her. Ripples of heat shivered through him as his tongue lightly traced along hers, before he bit down gently on her lip. She moaned quietly into his mouth. Her head was thick and heavy from sleepiness and this slow, exploratory, drugged kiss. Already his head was swimming as well, intensified by his still not being fully awake. He wriggled slightly towards her. Unsatisfied, his hand smoothed up her side, allowing his thumb to lightly skim over her breast before resting it softly on her cheek, stroking affectionately. A slow throb of desire was beginning to build in her and she moaned again. They were not touching enough... Shifting slightly as if to try to relieve some of the tension, she then stroked one of her feet up and down his leg before hooking round it and pulling it back towards her.

With every skim of her fingers over him, waves of heat pulsed stronger and stronger. As she urged him towards her he shivered, nudging his knee between her legs with unthinking boldness. His trembling hand shifted from her cheek; he pressed gently on her shoulder and shifted slightly till he was more over her than beside her, allowing his hand greater access now to touch her where he liked. Slowly, his fingers slid down the centre of her chest then back up, circling her breast tantaslisingly before his hand closed over it more firmly, gently massaging as he kissed her more deeply, more sweetly.

She surrendered her control of the situation to him quite happily, content to be pressed back, to feel the exciting familiarity of him above her and to give herself up to the feeling of his hands on her body. She tangled their legs together and retrieved her hand from between their bodies to clasp his waist and stroke up and down his back, finding the line of his spine and running her finger along it, fascinated by the slight groves she could feel. Her other hand came up and tangled in his hair again, bringing his mouth closer and making those sweet, hot kisses even deeper.

His hand on her breast meanwhile sent greater shoots of desire through her and she hissed into his mouth, dragging her lips away just enough to mumble incoherently, "Oh - dearest - time to get up" most of which was lost against his mouth and which was contradicted by her gentle squirming under him as she tried instinctively to manoeuvre him more on top of her.

"Not yet..." he murmured desperately against her lips.

His whole body seemed to hum and throb with desire; he cared for nothing else beyond her and _them_, and the intoxicating sensations between them. He pushed himself higher on his elbow, positioning himself over her, gazing down at her... Too beautiful, she was too beautiful and everything about her tempted him… His lips dragged down from her mouth to her neck, kisses punctuated by tiny licks. He shuffled lower, lips, kisses, trailing down, down... then closed on her unattended breast, building a rhythm of licking across, sucking gently, kissing sweetly, as all the while his free hand continued to tease over her other. Oh, but he was good at this! she thought and gave herself up to the feel of his hands and lips. Her heart beat was becoming ever more rapid and her breath now came in little gasps, every one sounding loud in the stillness of the room.

He moaned softly against her, bursting with pleasure before he reluctantly trailed back up again. His body burned for her; as he sought her lips again he slid fully, instinctively into her, as deeply as he could manage, gasping aloud as the feeling pulsed all the way through him. She exhaled with a sigh of perfect contentment. It felt so natural and easy now; she was so open and ready for him. She buried her face in his shoulder, sucking silently on his skin, as she wrapped her legs round him and encouraged him to move deeper.

A part of Matthew wanted to taunt her, toy with her, draw out the dizzying sensations... At first he resisted the tight pull of her legs, pulling back to almost completely withdraw from her, pausing there in sublime anticipation for a moment before thrusting deeply back in, and then again, with a shudder and a low, heavy moan of satisfaction. Then, eyes falling closed, he allowed himself to surrender to her.

She opened her eyes and her stomach flipped as he withdrew and then almost laughed, half a low, throaty laugh, half a gasp, as he plunged back in filling her completely. She shook her head slightly and met his glinting gaze delightedly for a moment before she pulled him towards her with her hands. Her eyes closed so that the all-encompassing sensation of him moving in and around and above her and the sounds of their mingled breaths became even more intense.

With a now familiar rhythm, Matthew rocked within her, back and forth, over and over, every slow, deep stroke making him gasp. He could get used to this, he thought, even as at the same time he knew that he never could... His lips hovered just over hers, brushing against them every time he thrust, hot breaths mingling, until he gave in to it and kissed her deeply, as his hand traced instinctively along the back of her thigh, hooking under her knee, to hold her to him. Everything in the darkness and the silence was intensified, and he became entirely engulfed by the encompassing thrill of _her_.

She wanted it to last forever, this gentle, deep, pulsing rhythm, every nerve ending tingling in response to his movements. She wanted to draw it out. Even though she recognized the heat building up inside her and spreading throughout she wished to keep it at this low simmering level as long as possible. In the back of her mind, increasing every moment though she wished it would not, was the realisation that this was their last chance. She met his kiss with a surge of passion and a slight sob from the back of her throat. It was perfect. He was perfect. And she was lost. She wrapped her arms round his neck and made love to him as gently and sweetly as she could conceive.

On some level, it still felt as though he were dreaming. It was a dream, had to be, because it could not possibly continue beyond the bounds of this room, this bed, their own bodies... In dreams, in fantasies, they could do whatever at all they liked... And he did, as she entwined herself around him and gripped him with every muscle (oh, how he could feel every one...), he loved her as he had barely dared to dream of, with a tenderness and pleasure that had never even entered his imagination. Even the slightest shift and movement swept fire through him that pervaded everything; his heart, body, soul was possessed by her and he revelled in it, touching and memorising her soft, perfect skin, skin that blended and melded into his own where they met. Carried away by the intensity of it, Matthew groaned softly against her lips, shifted, and without any conscious thought rolled onto his back, pulling her with him. Their lips broke apart for a moment and he gasped, meeting her eyes with dark intent before he pulled her down on top of him, wrapped his arms low and tight around her hips and thrust up against her.

Mary had been drifting on a sea of sensation, out of space and out of time when she suddenly found herself rolled over and lying, still joined, on top of him. Her eyes opened in surprise and met his, her lips parted and then he thrust into her again and there was greater friction and greater depth and all thoughts she had about how this was even possible were lost in a groan as she met his lips in a demanding kiss. In this new position she did not know quite what to do with her hands, eventually sliding them up his chest and gripping his shoulders. Her eyes fell closed and pushed herself down on him, desperate to feel more of him.

Her sudden shift in position, the delicious friction of it, caused Matthew to gasp and buck up against her even harder, arms pulling her down tighter to him. With one arm firmly around her hips, his other slid warmly up her back, up her neck and into her hair, crushing her lips to his as he pulled her down, arched himself up... The heat within him was building, colliding with the storm of what he felt must be love in his chest, yes, he loved her, and he felt his control begin to slip as everything about her enveloped him in slowly building passion.

His movements were becoming faster, sloppier and she sighed with pleasure into his mouth as his hand twisted into her hair, loving it when he did that. Her hips rose and fell and met his with increasing energy. She had to work harder like this and sweat began to slick over her skin. She was so hot, burning up with it, consumed by him... Groaning into his mouth and almost flattening herself over him, her hands sliding to clasp his face and tangle deeply into his hair, she stilled, tightened and convulsed round him in warm, pulsing waves.

Amidst the fire of friction, sweat and skin, Matthew was dimly aware of her stiffening and releasing in his arms, a sudden, understated explosion of passion that sent hot waves of arousal throbbing through him. His last shred of composure (had he had any to start with?), of control, suddenly gave way and he gripped her hips desperately as his own jerked wildly up, again and again, faster and faster, his steadily built rhythm collapsing into barely controlled spasms. A low, raw groan built up in his throat and he could barely think that he should attempt to restrain it, beyond gritting his teeth and turning his pleasure-masked face into her neck, grasping all over her back and hips as he continued to shudder underneath her.

She collapsed onto his chest, breathing heavily, even as he jerked under her and grabbed at her. She was limp again, limp and hot and slick. She pressed wet, open mouthed kisses to his chest and neck, her face heavy against his skin, even as he continued to shudder within her and she stroked her hand across his cheek and open mouth, making little noises in sympathy with him. Thought was out of the question, only feeling and complete oneness with him and what they were experiencing.

Everything felt heavy, heavy and warm and wonderful. With what felt like great effort, Matthew raised his hands to clasp her face gently, kissing languidly up her neck, over her chin and to her lips where he smiled against them with a soft hum of exhausted contentment. He was too spent, though, could not hold his hands there and so his arms simply looped heavily over her back, and he lay, breathing deeply against her reaffirming, welcome weight on top of him.

She kissed him briefly several times on the lips. Memories, or pledges, or reassurances. Then she made herself more comfortable, shifted off him and nestled against and on top of him. She sighed deeply, not wanting to move or leave him and his arms.

Her kisses were bittersweet, her sigh heavy. Matthew's pleasured smile faded a little as reality began to creep back into his consciousness. In resistance to his thoughts, he held her tighter, pressing his cheek, then his lips, to her hair. Her skin was warm but cooling, damp in his arms, and he could feel her tremble as he was. It was the most perfectly natural feeling in the world, he felt as though his heart could burst, but...

"Oh, Mary," he eventually whispered. His voice was heavy and tinged with sadness. He hugged her closer. Soon, the sky would begin to brighten, even at this early hour. "I must... I really must go." Though it was the last thing in the world he wanted to do.

She sighed again and hugged him closer in turn. "I know, dearest, I know..." But still she made no move to release him.

Matthew smiled, a soft chuckle at her reluctance. He couldn't help a small kernel of pleasure at the thought that she seemed as happy, at this moment, as he was - to be lying here, curled together, warm and satisfied in each other's arms... It was utterly blissful. Mathew had never known contentment like it, and oh, the thought of not feeling it again was torturous. Nevertheless, his hands slid down from her shoulders and began to prise her arms gently away from him, with enormous reluctance.

She slid down his body as slowly as possible relishing every last point of contact, until she was finally lying on her front next to him. She closed her eyes feeling the last tremors of his warmth. Only then did she eventually open her eyes and face him, finding his hand and entwining their fingers together. She smiled at him faintly, a little ruefully.

Even as the heaviness in his heart grew, so did his smile of endearment as she looked at him and sought his touch still. Such a conflict of emotions was swirling in him, at what they had done, what they must now do, how he loved her and wanted her and wanted to stay but had to go... He tugged her hand to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss to the back of it. Sighing against her skin, he forced himself to twist away from her, breaking the hold of her hand, to light the lone candle on the bedside cabinet. Once lit, he shuffled to sit on the edge of the bed, and turned back to look at her, at the gentle curve of her back and hips, her very skin seeming to glow golden and shimmer in the candlelight.

She watched him with wide, anxious eyes, leaning up on her elbow, as he sat up and lit the candle. She had not had much opportunity to study his back... She licked her lips and blinked. How had everything changed so much and so quickly? After this, how could she bear to be without him, even for a day, a minute? Her heart fluttered and contracted just thinking about it. The rest of the night, breakfast, the train journey... it all stretched before her, gaping and cold in its loneliness and lack of him. Even if she accepted his proposal it would not change that. Her heart contracted again with the strength of her swirling and confused feelings. Hesitatingly, she drew herself up into a sitting position and laid her hand on his shoulder as he turned to look at her.

She spoke softly and doubtfully. "We could... we could leave... now, couldn't we? Just the two of us? Nobody would ever need to know!" She frowned anxiously into his deep, darling, blue eyes. "You see, I don't want you to leave!" She looked down and blinked again, suddenly shy.

Her words sent a sudden chill, and an equally powerful thrill, through his heart.

"Mary..." His lips parted and closed, and he licked his lips, thinking, desperately thinking. He turned around fully, kneeling on the bed next to her and taking her hand. "What... what on earth are you suggesting?" His voice was low and tremulous, and he was struggling to think clearly still. She couldn't possibly mean what she seemed to imply...

She raised her eyes to his again taking in his still naked body as she raised them, her cheeks still pink though she hoped he would not be able to see that in the low light.

"I mean that..." She pursed her lips. "I mean that we could leave this room together and never look back. We could go to Scotland! We could be together still without any nonsense. Don't you want-"

"Oh, Mary!" He clutched her hand tightly, didn't know whether to laugh, smile, or weep at her perfect naivety. Lifting a hand to her face, he softly caressed her cheek, to comfort himself as much as her. "Darling Mary. Don't you see how impossible that is? I want... Of _course_ I'd want... to, but it's impossible - even more impossible - Mary, we simply couldn't."

He licked his dry lips again and pleaded her with his eyes, pleaded with her not to tempt him like this, not to destroy this perfect happiness they'd created together with impossible dreams. They couldn't... not like that. Of all the impossibility of this night, this love, to leave together like that would be… more impossible still. As if what they had already done was not!

She sighed and turned her head away. She knew it was impossible; of course it was. She had only wanted... She wanted him, so very, very badly but she didn't want, she couldn't face- Making an effort to pull herself together, she leaned forward and kissed him softly and briefly before pulling back and smiling tremulously and stoically.

"Go, Matthew. You need to get dressed."

That soft kiss, and all that it implied, nearly broke his heart. Why, why had he let himself give in to this? The full impossibility of what they had done was beginning to prick uncomfortably in the back of Matthew's mind, but still, he could not regret it. He was only sorry now for causing her any disappointment, any distress.

"Mary, please understand..." he tried to continue, a sort of desperation rising in his voice. She couldn't push him away, not now. "You know I want to marry you, God, you must know I love you now... But we have to go back, and it can't be the same - you might not feel the same - back there. I want you to be sure, Mary, do you see?" Oh, he loved her! He kissed her hand again, letting his lips linger on her warm, smooth skin, so reluctant to go.

She knitted their fingers together almost absently, all her mind concentrating on maintaining her smile. "I know." Her desire for him and for _this _warred with her complete inability to imagine their relationship existing in any shape or form away from this bedroom and the impossible fantasy of this week in Scarborough. How could she be sure of anything when she could not even frame the idea of the kind of marriage he was asking her for into a question that she could understand? She nodded several times. "I will be sure." It was all she could give him.

Matthew pursed his lips gently, his shoulders sagging in a sort of resignation. "Alright. Well, I hope so!" He smiled, then; there was nothing more she could have said, nothing more she could have done, to reassure them. The simple truth was that they didn't know - they _couldn't_ know - how things would be. Once they were home. Glancing to the window, he licked his lips and sighed gently. "I - I need to -" Shrugging helplessly, he squeezed her hand and pushed himself to his feet, feeling at once a separation, or a closure, from everything that had happened in that bed between them.

She let him go. She had to. Still, she watched him pick up his clothes and dress in the semi-dark with almost anguished fondness. Already they were separated and her desperate and unthinking plea for an elopement seemed to belong to another existence. Every additional piece of clothing that he added, every inch of glowing skin that disappeared under trousers, shirt, socks, magnified the gulf growing between them. Mary found that she was cold and glancing down, became aware once more of her nakedness. Her cheeks flared with colour and she quietly pulled the blankets round herself and covered her body.

Even though he was dressing and returning to a more familiar (more proper) state, he only seemed to feel colder, more uncomfortable somehow, with each new layer of his clothing. The night before seemed such an impossibly long time ago, even their... intimacy of only a short time ago (how long had it been? Minutes, or hours?) seemed like an elusive dream. Frowning in the darkness, he was so preoccupied, so distraught at _having_ to leave her now that once his waistcoat and jacket were on and fastened, he simply stuffed the other bits and pieces of his evening wear into a pocket. It was the middle of the night; no-one would think too badly of him for not wearing a bow-tie now. He didn't care, as a sense of dread and despondency threaded quietly through him. He didn't want to end this. But there was nothing more, no excuse to keep him here - he realised that this was it; he was leaving and this night would become nothing beyond a memory.

An air of finality hung over him. Turning, he looked back at her fondly on the bed, his lips quirking to a gentle, tender smile. "Well..."

She blinked at him as he straightened and faced her. Her stomach turned over and she could not help her features relaxing into adoration. How silly he looked with his collar standing on end and no tie and his cuffs undone and his hair rumpled! Her lips twitched. "Very nice, darling!" she teased him and felt a sharp, bitter-sweet pang.

His tentative smile widened, though his chest ached and the smile felt terribly fragile. Quickly, he crossed to the bed, stopping as his foot caught on her nightdress, cast off in passion by his own hands the previous night. Swallowing, his stomach churned as he stared at it, picked it up, clutching the soft cotton (which was cool, and unworn) between his fingers. Reaching the bed, he folded and placed it down softly before leaning over, his hands resting on the mattress either side of her as he kissed her softly on the lips.

This really was it. "Goodnight, then," he murmured, blinking as he indulged these last moments to be with her, like this.

Clutching the sheet with one hand she touched his cheek with her other as he kissed her, leaning in with automatic intimacy for one warm, blissful moment. As he pulled back, she kept her hand in its place, her thumb rubbing gently over the corner of his mouth.

"Goodnight," she whispered back.

Turning his head slightly, he kissed her palm, and took her hand, caressing it softly between his fingers before straightening reluctantly. She looked so utterly beautiful, and she'd been so utterly and entirely his. He dropped her hand and walked to the door - every step seemed to drag, it was like he was wading through treacle to leave her, it was so hard - allowing himself only one last, lingering look at her, relaxed and curled on the bed with the sheet draping around her and her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders, her skin shimmering even in the darkness, before he left.

Mary kept her eyes on him until the door had closed behind him and then she slid slowly back into her nightdress, its cold material against her skin a poor substitution for his arms. She pulled the blankets closely round her and stared up at the canopy of the bed with unseeing eyes. Suddenly the silence of the night seemed unbearably loud in the absence of her lover. She blinked several times and pulled the covers even higher and inhaled. They smelled of him and _them_, but they were a scant comfort. She could barely think. Love and loss and longing and satiation had taken over her mind and heart completely. Pushing through them all was a faint panic that she had not allowed herself to feel in Matthew's presence. Now that she was free from distractions, however, the words, "What have you done?" pushed intrusively through all other feelings. Her eyes remained open and wide in something close to fear and she felt quite sure she would not be able to sleep for the rest of the night. Sleep, however, did eventually claim her.

Every step away from her bedroom opened like a chasm between them, that Matthew thought could never possibly be filled again. It was simply too much, what they'd done, and he missed her already, but it was – well, _was_ it wrong? He was walking with his head down, glancing furtively around as though he were ashamed, his footsteps ringing mockingly on the cool floor, but in truth he didn't know _what_ he felt. It simply had been too much, the intensity of it and _Mary_ had overwhelmed him, and... well. He recognised at least that he couldn't think clearly about it, any of it, not now.

Opening his own door quietly, he shed his clothes himself – thinking only how dull, how very ordinary and empty it seemed now to be removing them simply to go to sleep - and left them dropped, heaped, on the floor. He found comfort in the veil of his pyjamas; to be unclothed and without _her_ seeming somehow unthinkable, and climbed into bed - thinking how cold, and how empty it seemed to be in bed and alone. _Mary_. Her name floated softly round his mind, over and over, taunting him even as it lulled him finally to sleep.

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><p>AN: _There they go! __We do hope you enjoyed it, and of course we'd love to know what you thought! Also, we should point out here that this marks the end of everything we had written up beforehand, so from hereonin we're all in new territory - not least our dear Matthew and Mary. Thanks so much for sticking with us (and them) so far!_


	11. Chapter Ten

_A/N: Happy Easter to all who celebrate! Whether you do or not I hope you are having a wonderful bank holiday weekend. :)_

_Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter and has been so enthusiastic about this story on tumblr or twitter. I actually just looked at the story stats, saw the number of alerts this story has - and my jaw dropped. D'awww you guys!_

_Anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter; we actually wrote the last bit sitting side by side at the same laptop so that was rather nice. :) Mainly we were just shaking our heads in despair, pointing and laughing at our beloved protagonists. You will understand why!_

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><p><strong>Chapter Ten<strong>

Morning seemed a cold blow to Matthew, when he awoke after a restless few hours of sleep. He glanced at his alarm clock – it would not even ring for another half hour yet – and tried closing his eyes again against the brightness of the sunlight streaming in, accustoming to the feel of his pyjamas and the bedsheets around him.

Had it been a dream? Slowly, purposefully, he took several deep breaths and replayed the previous evening and… night through his mind, trying to work out if there'd been some point where it had shifted from reality to fantasy. His skin tingled at the memory of her touch, her lips, of her body under and over his. He remembered what she looked like, those smooth, perfect curves, long, lithe limbs that had wrapped around him, how her skin had tasted on his tongue and…

He felt his cheeks colour with a deep blush, his breath trembling. His eyes snapped open. Good Lord, what had he _done_? His utter lack of self-control, in the stifling light of morning, seemed utterly reproachable. What on earth would she think of him? Being in bed suddenly felt deeply uncomfortable and he sat up with a jerk, shaking slightly as he scrambled out and pulled the bell that would summon Molesley from the next room.

"Sorry it's early," he muttered quietly. The valet simply smiled obligingly, and set about retrieving Matthew's clothes from the floor before getting his day suit out. "Couldn't sleep. Oh, and sorry about – that – I was pretty done in when I turned in." His own words kicked him in the gut, and he swallowed uncomfortably.

"That's quite alright, Sir," Molesley said amiably, getting on with dressing Matthew who tried harder and harder to stop blushing and pretend everything was quite normal. He was convinced that Molesley must see it, there must be some _sign_ on him, for how could there not be? He'd just about accepted that this was not true after what had happened at the castle, but last night had been so, _so_ much more than that.

Finally, thankfully, Molesley finished with him. Matthew needed air, needed to go somewhere, do something, anything to stop his mind going back to Mary and what they'd done.

Without disturbing his mother (he couldn't face her yet), he left the room and walked briskly down to the lobby. Down that corridor (a way down, up a flight of stairs and along another) was Mary's bedroom. Through that door was the terrace where they'd kissed. Over there was the ballroom where he'd held her closely against him and she'd whispered in his ear… Had that only been yesterday evening? And then, he'd… _they'd_… Maybe he should have gone straight back to his room. Why hadn't he thought! He thought now, though – of her waking, remembering, realising – and while he couldn't find it in him to regret any of it (God, it had been… quite the best, the most exhilarating, the most _wonderful_ experience of his life), he couldn't help his sick nerves over whether Mary would feel the same.

He was on his way out of the door, hoping for some air, when a cheery voice called out behind him.

"Ah, Matthew! You're down early. Did you get off alright last night; you seemed worn out?"

It was as though lead filled his stomach as he turned to face the Earl of Grantham. The Earl of Grantham, whose eldest daughter he'd… He swallowed and grinned (what else could he do?), his fingers flexing restlessly by his sides.

"Good morning, I – didn't sleep well, I'm afraid, but I think it's the heat."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. You'll be glad to be getting back then, I suppose – Downton will be cooler, at least." He clapped Matthew warmly on the back in greeting, and the younger man inhaled sharply.

"Well, I – yes, I suppose I will, pleasant though it's been here."

He smiled quickly, then looked somewhere near his feet. In many ways, it would be a relief to get back. Here had been a dream, a fantasy, it was dangerous… Wonderful, terribly wonderful, but the intensity of what he had felt, his lack of control had frightened him, and a part of him longed now for the familiar. He dreaded seeing her, even while he longed for it. Could any of what they'd said to each other stand now, in the light of day? How could he look at her?

Preoccupied with these worries, he half-heartedly engaged the Earl in mindless conversation, waiting anxiously for the rest of the family to join them for breakfast. The minutes dragged by, agonisingly slowly, and still no sign of Mary. Sybil was down next, then Mother, Cora, Edith, the Dowager Countess last, just as they were sitting down to eat… No Mary.

Under their unknowing eyes, he felt his skin burn and prickle. Food was unappealing, he felt a little sick, jumped every time somebody spoke to him as he became distracted thinking of how her skin and the most… intimate parts of her had felt under his mouth…

"Matthew dear, are you quite well?" his mother finally asked.

Startled, he looked up with wide eyes. "Perfectly," he muttered. Glancing around, he noticed they were all looking at him. "I'm perfectly fine, I just didn't sleep very well. That's all," he said again, lowering his head to frown at his poached eggs as he resolutely forced another mouthful in.

"Didn't you?" Edith asked. Matthew's eyes snapped up, suspicious of everyone, every comment, as if they knew somehow. She carried on, "I wonder if that's why Mary's not down yet."

"What do you mean?"

Edith frowned. "I wonder if Mary slept badly, too. Why, what else would I mean?"

"Oh. Nothing. Yes, I – hope she's well," he blinked, taking a gulp of tea. Everything was setting him on edge. Why wasn't she here yet? Couldn't she face him?

"Well she'd better hurry," Cora worried, "our train leaves in half an hour…"

Matthew hoped to goodness she'd hurry too. But still she didn't appear. Still hadn't by the time they all returned to their rooms for a final check of belongings. He appreciated the break though, snatching this last moment of solitude to recover himself, prepare himself again for seeing her. He'd done it, he'd sat with their family, he hadn't given himself away.

"Mr. Crawley?"

"Yes, what?" he turned from the window at Molesley's address. The valet was frowning.

"I'm – sorry, Sir, but I can't find your evening cufflinks anywhere… The ones you were wearing last night. I know we've not much time but I'll mention it to reception, there's nothing else missing so I don't think they can have been taken –"

"What? No! No, don't trouble anyone," he snapped, a sick feeling sinking in his stomach. Molesley's face flickered (thank God he was professional) and Matthew immediately apologised.

"Sorry, I mean – sorry. I'm feeling rather flustered this morning. I'm sure it was an accident, Molesley, I can always get more. They weren't particularly special, and maybe they'll turn up later."

"Very well, Sir."

After making sure everything else was in order, Matthew practically fled the room. His cufflinks. His _cufflinks_, hadn't he checked he'd retrieved them last night? Oh, he remembered taking them off… Had he not picked them up again?

Trying desperately to regulate his breathing, he went back downstairs. The corridors were cool. Maybe Mary had seen them, she must have done, picked them up. It would be alright.

But when he reached the lobby, gathering with the rest of the family who were ready to leave, she still wasn't there. God, where _was _she?

* * *

><p>It was the sound of Anna opening the curtains that woke Mary. She was jolted out of a most profound sleep and instead of her usual gradual, indolent awakening, she was alert at once, sitting up, her heart pounding.<p>

Anna turned from the window through which the morning sun was streaming and smiled innocently. "Oh, good morning, my lady. I thought you were still asleep."

"I was..."

Mary raised one heavy hand to her head. All her limbs ached dreadfully and she felt she was perceiving the world through a musty fog. The air in the room seemed very close. She could not remember ever having felt so groggy and tired upon waking up before.

"I'd like a bath," she said before she had even properly formulated the thought in her head. "Is there time?" she quickly added.

"I'm sure there is," replied Anna crossing towards her. "I'll order it n- Oh!"

She stopped suddenly in the middle of the room and bent down.

"What is it?" asked Mary with a frown.

The maid stooped, hesitated, and then straightened. "cufflinks!" she exclaimed in complete bewilderment, holding them out on the palm of her hand. For a second they caught the sun and winked.

Mary stared in horror. Matthew's cufflinks! He must have forgotten them. For a moment she was frozen, unable to know how to deal with the situation.

"How did these get here?" continued Anna. "Do you think they've been here all week and I only noticed now because of the sun?"

Mary came to life with a relieved movement of her head. "They must have been. The previous guest must have forgotten them." She held out her hand. "Give them to me."

"Are you sure, my lady?"

Mary swung herself out of bed and took a few stiff steps towards her.

"Of course!" she replied, as airily as possible. "You have all the luggage to deal with; I'll hand them in on the way out."

"Well, if you're sure..." said Anna dubiously, and put the cufflinks in Mary's palm. Her fist closed over them, a token of Matthew, and she nodded with a firm smile before shooing her off to arrange a bath, her face falling into worry as soon as her maid's back was turned.

She padded over the window and stretched, looking out over the bay. In the usual fashion of holidays, the weather on the day of departure was beautiful. The sky was a clear blue, there was no wind, and the sun glittered on the calm sea. Typical. A boat bobbed in the bay. Mary wondered if it as the same fishing boat she had pointed out to Matthew last night in the dark. Already it had the unreality of a dream. Only her physical lethargy and stiffness suggested otherwise. She frowned at the ocean and yawned into her hand. What happened now? She did not know. Impossibly, she imagined she could feel Matthew's arms round her still, faint and phantom-like in the brightness of morning, but strangely comforting all the same. But that was all it was: imagination. Had they really passed the night doing... what they had done? She knew that they had but her mind could not quite accept it. It seemed all so improbable.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Anna returning to tell her she wouldn't have time for a bath and going down to breakfast if they were to make the train. Mary chose the bath and ordered up some rolls and coffee. She felt peculiar and empty, however, and disinclined to eat very much – the natural consequences of such an unnatural night.

While the water for the bath was heating up, Mary lounged in an arm chair in her dressing gown and nibbled on her breakfast while Anna finished her packing. Thankfully the coffee helped a great deal and she soon felt much clearer headed and more herself. She wondered what Matthew was doing at that moment. Had he slept? Had he felt as lonely as she had? Indeed, even now, she felt as if she was missing something at her side. She heaved a sigh but obviously received no response. He would be at breakfast now with the rest of the family and she wondered how he was managing to look her father in the eye; she had no idea how she would do it.

As she shed her clothes and stepped into the blissfully warm water of the bath, her mind continued to imagine what Matthew might be doing but it ending up fixating on his hands: how he would hold his knife, raising a napkin to his lips, the movement of his neck as he swallowed... The water washed over her, warm and soothing, and eased her limbs as her eyes drifted closed. Now the images or memories rush thick and fast upon her. His hands on her body, his lips, the noises he had made, the feeling of him moving inside her...

She was lost to her fantasies for so long that Anna's knock and anxious reminder of the need for haste sent her scrambling to her feet in breathless surprise, cold water splashing onto the tiles. Brushing off all assistance, she dried herself with unusual vigour before allowing herself to be dressed. Her skin tingled all over again but at least she was clean.

Finally ready to leave, she put on her coat and hat (different ones from Wednesday's ruined ones), and left her room, not forgetting Matthew's cufflinks which she held tightly in one hand.

She was late. The rest of her family were already waiting with their luggage in the hall when she appeared above them. It was Cora who noticed her first, as she'd been anxiously peering at the stairs for the last five minutes. Matthew had been very deliberately _not_ doing so.

"At last, here she is! Darling, what on earth's kept you?" Cora exclaimed, frowning anxiously.

Matthew stared at the floor for a few moments; it took that long simply to gather the strength and the willpower to look at her, after how he'd last seen her. Pursing his lips nervously, he very slowly (it felt) turned around, catching her eye for a fleeting second before his gaze dropped, a hot blush creeping up his cheeks. It was _too much_! She was there, and - his body ached to touch her, but - no! He could hardly breathe, it seemed.

Mary couldn't help it. She paused a second as her mother spoke and everyone turned to look at her. Everyone except for Matthew. She looked away from him quickly but it had been enough. She hardly needed to take him in to prickle with recognition, especially considering her thoughts earlier that morning.

She forced a breezy tone. "I had breakfast in bed. Isn't that what one does on holiday?"

She smiled and descended the rest of the stairs, perfectly conscious of their stares. Then Matthew caught her eye and she flushed with heat - just from a single look! He _knew_ her, though, and she knew him. She could not believe that anyone else in that room could know anyone else more intimately than she and Matthew knew each other now. It was both better and even worse than seeing him on Thursday had been. Worse because everything was so much... so much _more_ but better because, well, she _knew_ him and all she wanted to do was smile at him and go to him and - She was at the bottom of the stairs.

"Well, you're here now - though you could have let us know, darling," Cora fussed, starting to usher the family out of the door.

Violet pursed her lips haughtily, put out by being rushed. "Really," she muttered, "What you can have been thinking of to delay so long, I really don't know..."

Edith seemed very disposed to contribute to the grumbling too, which was all making Matthew very uncomfortable. Robert thankfully took charge, calming the ladies down, as they stepped into the bright sunshine.

Matthew wanted to do nothing more than race out ahead, and stay as far from Mary as he possibly could - how could he be _near_ her now? - but something made him hold back, just for a moment. He glanced sideways at her, licking his lips nervously. All he could see, all he could think of, was her body underneath that delicate dress, the way her skin had shone, the way his name had sounded upon her lips... And yet there was still such an indefinable coolness about her that seemed impossible.

"Good morning," he barely whispered, unable to meet her eyes directly.

Mary moved away from her mother and for a moment was caught up in the bustle. Matthew's voice cut across it all, however, despite being quiet. She turned, drawing in her breath, and looked straight at him. Her heart pounded and she stared at him, wide-eyed, afraid that all her feelings were written on her face.

"Good morning, Matthew," she managed.

She was still carrying the cufflinks... Glancing away and seeing that they were unobserved - for now anyway; linger any longer and it would appear obvious that they were together - she stepped closer to him and slipped her hand into his, forcing him to be aware of what she was holding. It was difficult though - her chest rose and fell with the increase in her breathing and it was a struggle not to lean in further against him. Somehow being close to him had become natural to her and she had to actively force herself to maintain any kind of distance between them.

Matthew swallowed heavily, flinching sharply as she touched him. It wasn't that he meant to shy away from her, just... the thrill of her fingers around his hand was so unexpectedly, wonderfully sharp, he couldn't help himself. They were warm and smooth and... cold, hard metal pressed into his palm, and his eyes snapped to hers, wide with shock.

"My - cufflinks..." he whispered. "Thank God, Molesley noticed they were gone this morning."

With an incredible effort he dragged his hand from hers, gasping at the slip of friction as her fingers slid against his. To be so close to her was torturous, but... to be parted from her would be equally so. His fingers flexed unconsciously.

"Anna found them," she whispered back with a little, warm smile, not because there was anything amusing in what she was saying but because it was him and she smiled automatically. If only they could just be together, just like this... Then she remembered what she had said to him in the dark of the night and was shocked by it. An elopement to Gretna Green? Had she really-? Her cheeks flamed with sudden colour and her eyes widened; what must he think of her for making such a ridiculous suggestion? What on earth had _she_ been thinking making it? Her stomach churned and she turned away from him, still breathing hard.

"Come on," she muttered awkwardly, and walked away towards the cabs. Matthew stared after her, licking his lips. They were so dry, he couldn't stop doing it - they tingled, almost ached, from wishing he could feel hers against them.

_Anna_ had found them, his cufflinks... Mary hadn't seemed worried though; at least - at first. Then he'd seen that alteration in her expression, as if she'd... suddenly remembered, or fully realised, exactly what they had done. He'd known it; how could she _not_ regret it after they'd been so - so thoughtless! So... abandoned, so... wanton! And yet still, _still_, through all the turmoil of his thoughts and sensibilities, he wanted her. God, how he wanted her! And he... he loved her. It was as though he suddenly remembered _that_, on top of anything else. His pulse felt strange and erratic, and he felt almost dizzy, as he dragged his feet to follow after her.

They were separated for the duration of the journey to the station - a good thing - giving them both an opportunity to recover their composure. They were not so lucky on the train, however. The party took up several compartments and Mary and Matthew found themselves by chance together and sharing with none other than Edith and Isobel. A more awkward grouping could not possibly be imagined. Mary immediately took the best seat, by the window facing forwards, leant her chin on her hand and stared out of the window with so much intensity her gaze could have bored holes in the glass. She did not want to talk to Edith, she was embarrassed to meet Isobel's eye and as for Matthew – it was impossible.

As they entered the small compartment, Matthew stood back, allowing the ladies to enter. To his dismay, both his mother and Edith claimed travel sickness if they were to sit by the window (particularly facing backwards as well) and so he was left with nowhere to sit but opposite Mary, with his knees awkwardly twisted to the side to maintain as much distance and propriety as possible. Propriety, what a joke that seemed now! He blushed even at the thought, and coughed behind his fist. Edith sat with her arms folded, staring back towards the passageway, Mary was glaring out of the window... and his mother was so bright-eyed that she'd immediately notice if he were to look at his lover too obviously. Heat prickled beneath his collar and he tugged at it uncomfortably.

"It is rather warm in here," he muttered in way of excuse.

His mother raised her eyebrows and said, "Well you can always open the window, dear, if it bothers you so much."

She turned and smiled pleasantly at Mary, as if to laugh over how simple Matthew was being. Mary turned her head for a second to smile tensely at her, her eyes hitting the wall just off to the side before looking away again.

Edith piped up then. "Actually I'm feeling quite cold. Are you sure it is not just you by the window, Matthew? Are you too hot as well, Mary?"

"No," intoned her sister contemptuously. She had no idea what she felt, whether she was too hot or too cold or too anything.

Matthew sighed, and tapped his fingers restlessly together. "I'll leave it, then," he said softly, though he was growing warmer and warmer by the minute. Trust Mother, to be as gloriously inappropriate as it was possible for her to be.

"Well," Isobel suggested brightly, "you might at least take your jacket off. I'm sure none of us here will mind that, we're hardly in public."

Mary could not help it; she sighed heavily and obviously, drawing attention to her from Isobel and Edith. She did not want to think about Matthew taking his jacket off but even just the suggestion was enough to make her feel uncomfortably warm as well.

Once again it was Edith who replied before she could. "I certainly don't mind but I think Mary would. She's such a stickler for propriety even in private. Aren't you, Mary?"

This was such a pointed remark that Mary actually raised her head and fixed her with a shocked glare across the compartment. What could she mean by it? It had to be her imagination but Edith's remarks all morning had seemed particularly... she did not know. She had to be making it up and she turned back to the window, rolling her eyes dismissively.

"Do whatever you want, Matthew," she said without looking at him.

Well, that was hardly helpful. If he'd hoped for any sort of signal from her, any kind of indication of how they were to behave or manage to be together at all, it was clearly not forthcoming. But... thinking about that, his frustration at her utter indifference (though... it must simply be an act? Surely? After how intimately they had known each other...) was only making him hotter, and he wriggled uncomfortably in his seat.

"For goodness' sake," his mother finally snapped. "You are going to make us all uncomfortable, Matthew, so do just take it off. I don't know why on earth you're making such a fuss over it."

"I'm - _not_ - making a fuss!" Matthew bit back childishly as he frowned, and shrugged off his jacket, folding it neatly beside him with his hat on top. The air seemed immediately cooler against his arms and he blew out another breath, his chest dipping as he sighed and stared out of the window, noticing suddenly Mary's reflection in it.

Mary ignored him as much as she could but it was very hard when he was fidgeting so much and she knew just what it felt like to hold him in her arms while he... fidgeted And now she shifted in her own seat as unwelcome desire suddenly flared up within her. Perhaps it was rather hot after all. Standing up suddenly so that her skirts brushed against his legs, she announced to the compartment in general, "I think I shall open the window after all."

She gave the catch a tug and then another but it seemed jammed. She pursed her lips in frustration and gave it another tug.

Matthew swallowed and stared at the floor as he felt her leg bump against his knee, the sensation lancing through his whole body as it awakened the memory of her touch. Edith stared at him.

"Aren't you going to help then, if you were so desperate to have it open in the first place?" she said ungenerously as she wrapped her arms around herself.

Isobel's pointed expression concurred, and so he stood up heavily, behind her but maintaining a very careful distance even as his body ached with her closeness.

"Here, let - me," he murmured, replacing her hands on the latch with his own as he tugged it open.

Mary almost wilted against the window, her fingers falling from the catch. He didn't touch her but she felt him behind her as surely as if he had been pressing against her. Her body radiated with heat and her eyes closed as his voice, sounding impossibly deep and authoritative, washed over her. Sweat prickled at his hairline as he grunted quietly with the effort of opening the window before sitting down, rubbing his hands distractedly over his knees.

A rush of cold air and noise entered the compartment. Mary sat down as well and resumed her fixed gaze out of the window; it had been all over within the space of a minute, but her composure had been shattered all over again.

Glancing down at his pocket watch, Matthew held back a quiet groan as he realised there was another full hour of this to endure, in such proximity and company. And... God, he was cramped! The more he tried to ignore it, the more his muscles ached... And then the reason for why they ached occurred to him with the sharpest clarity and his nails dug into his palms as images and memories burned behind his eyes.

"Would you - excuse me," he whispered to nobody in particular, before stretching his legs into the middle of the compartment, crossing his ankles. It was unbearable. More to himself than anyone else, he muttered, "I think I shall be quite glad to get home, pleasant though this trip has been."

Anything would be preferable to _this_.

"I agree!" replied Edith. "I didn't like the hotel."

A beat of silence followed her pronouncement. Mary clenched her fist unseen and did not give her the gratification of a response, but Isobel was less experienced in dealing with Edith and said, "Oh? Why is that? I found it very comfortable."

"Didn't you hear the cats last night? At least I assume they were cats. Really, the servants should deal with that sort of thing. Very disturbing."

Mary's heart stopped beating for a split second and she was glad she was staring away from the company as she realised as perhaps she should have done before, that Edith's room had been next to hers. Good Lord... _cats_.

Not understanding, Matthew frowned at Edith.

"I'm sorry your stay was disturbed," he said, latching onto a topic that seemed to be relatively neutral without having realised that Mary was at all affected. He was not looking at her, after all.

Isobel nodded sympathetically. "I'm sure if you'd have telephoned down to reception they would have done something about it, you know - they seemed very obliging."

"Yes, I should have done," replied Edith. "They would have exposed it all instantly; how foolish of me!"

Mary felt as if she was going to choke. Edith_ knew_! She had heard, she had seen, who knew what... But they'd been quiet... hadn't they? Just whispers and - and - She closed her eyes again as memories flooded her - of moans and - and _more_? She felt rather sick now.

Whipping her head round, she bit out sarcastically, "Or you could have dealt with them yourself, couldn't you? _Cats_ don't bite, you know."

The emphasis was unmistakeable but she softened it a second later with a condescending smile before turning back to the window, her heart pounding. As she looked away, she happened to catch Matthew's eye for a second but she twisted her head away instantly.

Suddenly it seemed to have gone rather beyond cats, Matthew thought, as Mary caught his eye. Cold panic flooded his chest and his heart hammered, as he clutched restlessly at his knees. Good Lord. It was unthinkable, but... _How_... What on earth could it mean, how could she... He swallowed thickly.

"Well," he practically whispered. "What's done is done, and there's no harm done..."

"I quite agree!" Isobel smiled breezily, overly so, in an attempt to diffuse the tension that she did not understand between the younger adults.

Anything right now seemed preferable to thinking through the implications of what Edith had said. Folding her hands carefully in her lap, Mary turned to face Isobel and smiled beautifically, forcing herself to meet her eyes and not think about how she was the mother of the man she had - _No_.

"Indeed! And did you have a restful holiday, cousin? You know, I feel as if we have hardly spoken all week."

"Yes! It's been most pleasant, thank you," she nodded. "I managed to finish the novel that I've had on the go for months it seems – I can never quite find the time at home. It was nice to have the opportunity, and in such a lovely setting."

This new direction of the conversation towards the innocuous subject of literature could not be more welcome to Mary. "What have you been reading?"

Isobel brightened enthusiastically. "Oh, it was a Gaskell novel – _Mary Barton_, recommended to me after I'd very much enjoyed _North and South_. I did get rather into it eventually, though I must say it painted a rather more grim picture of Manchester than I myself remember."

"Indeed," replied Mary, the smile still fixed on her face. "I admit I haven't read that one."

"Well, if you were to do so I wouldn't take it as any sort of travel guide to the city!" Isobel laughed. "Matthew could give you a much truer impression of it if you'd wait a few weeks – I think he's planning to go there soon, aren't you dear?"

Matthew glanced up, startled, at his name. He'd been staring blankly out of the window for several minutes, trying very concertedly _not_ to think too deeply about anything. His relief at his mother's change of subject had been enormous, but now it seemed to be directed once more (and very uncomfortably) on him. And a subject that he didn't particularly, and certainly not in close company of Mary, want to dwell too deeply on.

"Yes, I am," he blinked and answered quite shortly.

"Going away again so soon?" asked Edith in surprise. "Well, I dare say you've had quite enough of the pleasure of our company this week. But we'll miss you terribly, won't we, Mary?"

So much for a neutral conversation. Mary glared at her. "Oh, I'm sure we can survive without him for a few weeks or so. We managed for many years before he came and never felt the loss."

She regretted the words as soon as she spoke them for they were unnecessarily unkind to Isobel as well as Matthew. In truth, she felt too thrown by the pointed nature of Edith's remarks and by the mere suggestion of Matthew leaving her to know how to respond without panicking. She continued in a rush to try to cover up her rudeness, "Won't you have a large backlog of work, Matthew, after going away again so soon?"

She forced herself to address him directly for the first time on the journey, her expression pleading with him to overlook her reaction.

The insult had stung, and Matthew's eyes had instantly flown to Mary's in shock and not a small amount of hurt. As she beseeched him, though, he recognised (or hoped, at the very least) that it was perhaps only her discomfort that had prompted it. He struggled to maintain an even tone as he answered her, his breath shortening as, so typically, everything else seemed to fade into the background.

"I suppose I will," he muttered. "But it can hardly be helped. I'm not going away by choice, you see – I mean, I'm looking forward to it certainly, but – the timing can't be helped."

"Goodness me, Matthew," exclaimed Isobel, "there's no need to be so mysterious! It's only your closest friend's wedding and you are the best man after all; there's no need to make a meal out of it!"

"Yes, I – well, I know!" Matthew stammered uncomfortably and licked his lips.

They didn't understand! To be talking about _weddings_, with Mary... After having touched briefly, but most seriously, on the subject after... well, both what had happened at the castle _and_ only the previous night... They needed some respite from the whole notion!

"I only supposed that considering neither Cousin Edith nor Mary have any familiarity with the friend in question, whose name happens to be Edward," he threw in uncharitably for his mother's benefit, "they would hardly be interested in hearing the intimate details of his upcoming wedding!"

"But we're very interested in weddings," put in Edith. "What young, unmarried lady isn't!"

Mary's brief feeling of security had long vanished. She was growing more and more irritated with Matthew as well as Edith. What did he mean by reacting so blatantly, for giving her sister even the smallest encouragement? A wedding was a wedding – it had nothing to do with their situation. Would this journey never end!

"Naturally," she snapped and began to smooth down her dress with trembling fingers, unable to sit completely still though without wanting to fidget too obviously.

As if Matthew hadn't been on edge enough, if he hadn't been uncomfortable enough already by this intolerable conversation, the slight movement of Mary's hands smoothing across her stomach sent a cold jab of panic spearing up his spine. What if... Oh _God_, how had they been so stupid! The thought had never crossed his mind, _how_ had it never crossed his mind; his mother was a nurse for God's sake!

Suddenly the air in the compartment seemed too close and thick and hot to bear. He _couldn't_ bear it, not another moment, not another word.

He coughed. "Is – anyone else in terrible need of a drink? I am," he muttered, standing up sharply, so quickly that his legs bumped into Mary's knees. "Tea, I mean," he hastily clarified. Oh, _God_. "I think I'm going to take some air down the corridor and find a –" Words seemed to be failing him completely, and he blustered in frustration. "A – well, somebody who can get me a cup of tea!"

Scrubbing his hand agitatedly through his hair, he glanced back at Mary and as good as fled the stifling compartment.

For several moments after he left there was complete, stunned silence. Eventually Edith said thoughtfully, "I don't think he'll have much luck. They don't have refreshments on these shorter journeys, do they?"

"It doesn't feel very short to me," muttered Mary under her breath as she tried to get her heartbeat under control.

"He's being perfectly ridiculous," said Isobel. "This wedding must be affecting him more than I thought. Edward was his school friend, you know, and they are closer to thirty than twenty now after all!"

This was utterly unbearable. Mary stood up and got out a novel from her bag on the rack and used it as a shield to avoid conversation for the rest of the journey. Reality was proving much harder than even she had thought it would be.

**END OF PART ONE**

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><p><em>AN: Thank you for reading. We hope you enjoyed it and would love to know what you think. I know we say this for every chapter but we find your comments and speculation about this story utterly fascinating! _

_This is the final part of the first part of the story and the absolute limit of what has been prior written. We have now plotted the entire rest of the story (on two sides of A4 paper in small writing!) so we know where we're going with it - and it will be EPIC! But updates will be less frequent from now on and chapters may be shorter because we simply cannot RP and edit about 6000 words a week as well as our individual projects. We apologise for that but hope you'll stick with us!_

_Coming up in _Consequences of the Castle_: Proposal, betrothal and wedding (not necessarily in that order), sibling rivalry, parent-child bonding, a visitor from overseas, cottages, and... a rather dodgy curry._


	12. Part Two: The Castle Besieged

_A/N: We apologise so much for the delay! We're writing and editing each chapter as they come now and these last few weeks we've both been hit hard by deadlines, coursework, job applications and holidays. Hopefully we'll be able to be slightly more regular now but to be honest we can't guarantee it._

_Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed the last chapter and who has remained interested in the story. We hope you continue to enjoy Part Two in the continuing saga of Matthew and Mary behaving really stupidly. :)_

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><p><strong><span>Part Two: The Castle Besieged<span>**_  
><em>

**Chapter Eleven**

Mary did not go to church on Sunday.

She had every intention of doing so but when it came to leaving the house she could not bear to and, pleading a bad headache, retired to her room. Mary did not know if she believed in God or not but her doubts were not strong enough for her to be comfortable attending the church service so soon after she had sinned. It had been the same after Pamuk. Then, her punishment had been immediate and clear. Oh, she no longer thought his heart had stopped simply to punish her for fornication – that was both ludicrous and romantic... probably; but by all the codes of conduct and morality with which she had been brought up, she had done terribly wrong and she had not been able to bear the guilt of entering God's House bearing such a burden.

She no longer felt that way. Weeks had passed, then months, and Mary had not been shot down by a bolt from heaven. She had not been pregnant either, which had been a very real fear for several weeks following a very awkward conversation with her mother on the subject. No, Mary had found that it was necessary to readjust her understanding of marriage and of the sexual act and over the following year she changed her opinion to suit her own situation. The fact was that women should not take lovers for the simple reason that men did not like them to. There were no real repercussions to it. A baby was not the necessary consequence of such a union; if it was, she had thought wryly, then the world would be vastly more over-populated than it was. No moral consequences had taken place, nor social ones either. She had simply got on with her life and tried to put it behind her, something easier said than done at times.

But now she had done it again... and again... and then again. How far from virtue had she fallen this time? Years of being told such behaviour was wrong warred with and tried to overcome her modern conviction that none of that mattered. And how different it had been with Matthew; surely that had to mean something? How could she be punished for something so pure and so good that made her so happy? But it was _wrong_. It had to be wrong. By every law and custom that she knew, what they had done was wrong however right it had felt at the time. Guilt and defiance, shame and liberation conflicted constantly within in her. Among those feelings, moreover, was a pang that never seemed to quite go away of simply missing Matthew. Try as she might to ignore and dismiss it, a part of her felt as if it had been torn away from her and her thoughts were never far from him. It frightened her, and fear made her waspish .

Alone in the house while the others were at church, she shut herself away in the library, reading the first page of novel after novel, abandoning each in turn as not sufficiently interesting to keep her attention away from her own feelings and the fears she told herself were unnecessary.

The first thing she knew of the return of the rest of the family was when the library door opened and Edith entered, Pharoah on her heels. The dog went to its usual spot by the earl's writing desk but Edith approached her sister.

"I thought you had a headache," she accused her.

Mary sighed and laid aside _The Lost World_. "I was not aware that having a headache prevented me from reading."

"It does me."

She made no reply and Edith advanced still further into the room. "You missed an interesting sermon today, Mary. All about sin."

"I highly doubt Mr. Travis has anything original to say on such a traditional subject."

"Well, it seemed pertinent to me," insisted Edith, her tone giving nothing away.

Mary stood up and faced her across the room, knowing perfectly well where this was going and torn between wanting to get it over with and putting it off as long as possible. "I can't imagine why you'd think that."

"Can't you, Mary? I would think after your escapades in Scarborough it would be at the top of your mind."

She heaved a sigh and turned away towards the window. "Define 'escapades', Edith; you're inclined to melodrama sometimes and I really don't know what you-"

"I suppose whoring yourself out at every possible opportunity is rather melodramatic, even for you, though I don't know why I'm surprised."

Mary gasped, shocked despite herself. It was one thing to question her actions herself, quite another to hear them described in such bald terms by someone else.

"How dare you!" she stammered, almost lost for words. This was beyond hyperbole.

"At least two lovers, Mary," said Edith, "and no sign of wedding bells. What do you think that makes you? At least this one's still alive – I suppose."

"My God," she breathed, hit by another wave of horror. She leaned heavily on the table that separated them. "How did you-"

"As if anything in this house is a secret," retorted her sister. "Half the servants know as well but _they _won't tell."

Mary blinked several times. Her breath seemed stuck in her throat. Matthew... Pamuk... Edith... _half the servants_! Then, with a supreme effort she pulled herself together. "And neither will you," she said firmly, "not if you know what's good for you."

"What's good for me? Don't you mean what's good for _you_? And why should I care about that, when you've proved yourself such a low, disgraced-"

Mary rolled her eyes and hissed at her across the table, "Because ruining me will ruin you and Sybil by association, you fool." She was pleased to see a flicker of unexpected panic in her sister's eyes. "Really, you shouldn't try to be devious if you can't be clever at it."

A look of hurt and worry flashed across Edith's face and Mary hastily pressed her advantage. "Anyway, you know what would happen if you told Papa about Matthew so it's not in your interest to-"

"So it was Matthew," breathed Edith, her eyes lighting up again and silencing her sister. "That's disgusting, Mary. Of all the people in the world."

"You mean you didn't-" Mary closed her eyes in pain and regret at what she had let slip, covering her mouth with her hand. Everything seemed to be crumbling around her and it was an effort to maintain even the appearance of composure.

"I suspected, of course. He really was being terribly obvious on the train, but I didn't know for sure. I suppose in some ways it's better than it being a complete stranger, if you have to find a good side to it."

"Edith, please," Mary said, looking back at her. "Matthew's innocent. He's innocent of everything and we're really trying to-"

"Oh, I'm quite sure he is innocent!" retorted her sister. "Which makes it so much worse that you're not, don't you think?"

Mary sighed, a weary movement of misery and resignation, but before she could reply the door opened again and Lord Grantham entered, looking cheerfully around the room.

"Ah, there's the dog. Good boy." He looked up and saw the two girls, frozen and silent at the other end of the room. "And how are you feeling, Mary? Are you any better?"

"Rather worse actually," replied Mary faintly. "Excuse me."

She fled the library with only a modicum of composure, stopping in the hallway to take a few deep breaths and force down the rising panic that accompanied the realisation that Edith knew _everything_ and that the only thing that stood between her and certain ruin was a reliance on her sister's sense of self-interest preventing her from revealing it all. After all, she hadn't told anybody about Pamuk and it had been a year. Why should she reveal it now?

From the library came her father's voice, curious and worried. "Poor Mary. She really hasn't been herself this summer. I did think she was more cheerful at Scarborough but it seems not... I cannot understand it!"

Edith's reply came clearly. "I think if you asked her she would probably just blame it on Cousin Matthew as she usually does."

Her father chuckled. "Quite probably. Poor old Matthew!"

Mary took a deep breath and forced herself to cross the hall and walk upstairs, trying to consider what she had to do. It was difficult enough trying to know how she ought to behave towards Matthew when she next met him without having to add Edith's knowledge to the mix. If they were forced to marry – she could not bear it. The humiliation, the resentment: she could see it perfectly. It would taint everything that they had that was so... It seemed wrong to call it _pure _but in contrast to her experience with Kemal Pamuk and all of Edith's sordid innuendo, that really was how it appeared. And if Matthew should find out that he was not her first lover... It was not something she wanted to think about.

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><p>Cycling home through the village on Wednesday evening, Matthew kept his eyes fixed on the shifting point a metre or two in front of him and concentrated on the steady whirring of his bicycle wheels and chain. The sound was comforting, and a welcome distraction from the persistent clamour of his thoughts. Distraction, he had found, was nigh on impossible. At work, at dinner, in his bed... his thoughts were an endless spiral of Mary and what they had done. While it was... pleasant, to think of Mary - God, the memory alone made him shudder to think of - he found his thoughts increasingly tainted by concerns and doubts that only seemed to grow as time went on. It had only been, what, three days? Their bliss in Scarborough felt like a lifetime ago. And now... He tried not to believe that they'd been terribly, terribly foolish, but he couldn't shake the worry that they <em>had<em>. To have been so thoughtless... for consequences, propriety... What were they to _do_? He had to talk to her, though he had no idea how they could manage it here, with everything so different between them and yet so unchanged. As he sped around the corner, pedalling faster than perhaps he should in his agitation, he found the difficulty unexpectedly resolved when he nearly flew into Mary coming out of the post office, braking hard and skidding to a rather undignified stop.

"God, sorry -" he gasped, dismounting a little shakily. He licked his lips and stared at her. It was so familiar to meet here, like this, and yet... "Hello," he smiled faintly.

Mary gasped and jumped back just in time, her hand clutching at her chest as her heart leapt and began to beat overly fast. From shock of course. She had not seen him since they had parted at the station half a week ago. It seemed like years and yet no time at all. She reacted instinctively to him, managing to take in his entire appearance in one sweep of her eyes, somehow acknowledging her new intimate understanding of him in the same moment.

"Hello," she greeted him, her lips trembling, unable to go all the way and smile. "You're not in training for the Olympics, are you?" she added making a bit more of an effort, her eyes warming to him.

He laughed nervously at the ground, marvelling at the way she could so well ease his tension in the very same moment as setting him on edge. He glanced up, just quickly, as if unable to take everything about her in all at once in one look - it was too much, she was too dear, there was too much to think of...

"I'd hope to be going a little faster than that if I were!" he grinned uncertainly, finally mustering the courage to look at her properly, and unable to breathe for a moment... before the nagging worry, the sick twist in his gut, returned with a vengeance. His smile wavered. "Is everything alright?" he tentatively asked.

She managed a slight smile at his pleasantry - how could she not when it was Matthew and she had missed him in some deep, inner, profound way she did not understand and was terrified to examine. But the smile wavered again and her eyes opened wide in a direct stare. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Well, I..." He pressed his lips together, suddenly terrified to voice his fears, as if to do so must confirm them. And to do so outside the village Post Office was even more impossible. He shook his head. "No reason, I suppose. But would you - walk with me?" His fingers flexed around the handlebars of his bicycle as he inclined his head in the direction of Crawley House. For all his worries... he had _missed_ her, these last few days. He'd missed her terribly, and he felt a gentle glow of warmth in his chest just to be near her again, mingling with the chill of his concern.

Mary's lips parted and her eyes flickered anxiously over his face. She felt a sudden dread, though of what she was not sure. Perhaps he had remembered what she had almost confessed to him at the castle. Or he had been stricken by inevitable guilt at church. Or he simply blamed her for it all. He -

She shrugged her shoulders and forced herself to reply in a normal tone. "Yes. If you like."

She fell into step beside him. Her coat was open in the summer heat and as it flapped around her it brushed his side and she felt so conscious of it that she moved a little further away so that they could not touch accidentally, not that it helped to remove her awareness of him so close to her.

He smiled tightly, and for a few moments they walked in silence. Things felt, in some way, as they always had. It was so familiar. So ordinary. Matthew wondered how could it possibly be so; when he felt so fundamentally changed in every possible way? He was glad it was only a short walk.

"Are you glad to be home?" he asked conversationally; though every word they each said now seemed to suggest some deeper meaning, or understanding, between them.

What did he mean by that question? Mary did not know how to answer it, considering everything that had happened at the weekend.

"I suppose so," she replied eventually, cautiously. "Are you?" She certainly didn't want to know his answer but the polite question slipped out automatically.

"Yes, in some ways," he shrugged a little. He felt that he could hardly admit now how he longed to reclaim the fantasy of what they'd shared there - it didn't seem right, somehow. But... he hoped that she knew, and he turned and gave her a little smile, as if that might tell her.

There was no way that she could know that he was looking at her, since her eyes were on the ground, but she turned towards him instinctively, as if she knew he was smiling at her, and drew in a breath at the expression in his eyes. No, she thought, almost physically reeling from it, he did not blame her nor had he been stricken with guilt on Sunday. After one long moment, she looked away and swallowed, twisting her hands together in front of her with nerves.

"How nice!" she cried inanely, continuing immediately, "I was posting a letter to my aunt. She was sorry she could not join us this year and wanted to know how it all went. And that - was why - I was in - the post office," she finished desperately, regretting her explanation. It had been, after all, a rather difficult letter to write.

Matthew couldn't help smiling fondly, though it quickly trembled and fell. How difficult this was!

"I see," he acknowledged her quietly. "Well, there's always - next year," he added; and immediately shivered at the thought of... repeating... their visit. God, where would they be in a year? He hardly dared think - he couldn't, it was too far off, too distant. There was far too much to think of _now_, let alone in a year's time!

_Next_ year? Mary's emotions spilled over into a sudden desire to laugh. It was all utterly ridiculous. She glanced over at him with a look of incredulous mirth, managed a "Quite!" and fell silent again, forcing down the inappropriate laughter that threatened to spill out into hysteria.

Her amusement was strangely encouraging. At least, Matthew found it so until it occurred to him that it she might simply be masking unknowing confirmation of everything he feared. Thankfully his thoughts didn't have to dwell there, lingering, worrying, for too much longer as they crossed the green and drew slowly to a halt outside Crawley House. He smiled.

"Have you time to come in for a moment? I think - Mother's at the hospital -" He trailed off, paling as he realised the implication of his invitation and what it must sound like. "I mean - so we can speak a little more freely -" he quickly tried to mask it, already aware of his failure and gave up, settling instead to wet his desperately dry lips.

Mary's laughter died as they paused at the gate, her eyes dropping automatically to his lips as he licked them before she raised them again, angry at herself even as she felt a now-familiar stab of prickling desire at his unintentional insinuation.

"The last time you invited me in it did not end very well," she said quietly. "Is this a good idea, Matthew?" There was something special about saying his name and as her lips formed the word, her heart turned over. She clenched her fist in frustration.

He didn't know. It probably wasn't. He didn't care. He wanted (not _her_, he couldn't think like that only... he could hardly deny it either)… to talk to her, that was all. They _had_ to talk.

"I think things have changed a little since then," he answered her softly. "I don't - know if it is, but - would you? Please, Mary."

It was the "please" that undid her. That and - and all those references that forced her to remember and to relive - as if she didn't do that enough as it was! She pursed her lips and nodded curtly.

"Very well." She brushed past him on the path saying over her shoulder, "I can't stay long, you understand. I have to get back before dinner... You're coming tonight, aren't you? I think Papa mentioned something about getting us all back together for the first time after the holiday."

"Did he now?" Matthew chuckled to ease the fluttering nervousness he felt at the intimation. "Anyway, yes I think we are."

He knew they were; he'd been thinking of it and anticipating it all day. He was beyond thankful now that he'd chanced upon Mary before having to meet her there and exposed to all their family; it would have been... too much, with things as they were between them. He allowed Mary to enter first, thanked Molesley graciously as he handed over his outer garments and briefcase, and went through to the sitting room where he moved instinctively to hover by the window.

Mary followed Matthew into the sitting room, after letting Molesley take her coat. As she entered, she looked around her and could not help seeing the place differently. Matthew wanted to marry her. Or at least he had said he did but in such a situation that - well, she did wonder now. It all seemed like a dream, the proposal too. But if she married him this would be her home. It was a nice room, she thought. Not as large as the ones she was used to but... _nice_. She could sit in that armchair by the fire and - but these were foolish, unproductive thoughts. Oh, she ought to think seriously about it but this was not thinking, it was fantasising. She came further into the room.

"Well," she said, spreading her arms a little, "are you going to ask me to sit down?"

"Oh, please do," Matthew gestured towards the settee, and smiled faintly.

He did not sit down himself, but paced back and forth a little by the window before leaning against it. Now that he had the opportunity, and... Mary, and they were alone... he hardly knew what to say. He hadn't thought quite how to put all of it into _words_, or how to begin... Oh, the only thing he could do was _say_ it!

"I wondered -" he finally began, "when we were on the train: Edith... Mary, do you think she knows?" he blinked rapidly, his hand tightening on the window frame in fear.

She had barely sat down when his question made her want to jump up again. She controlled herself however, only her eyes darting quickly to the open door. She should have anticipated this conversation really. With a little sigh of resignation, she nodded.

"Yes. She knows."

It did not seem prudent to tell Matthew that until she had stupidly let it slip, his identity had been unknown, only suspected. There were some things that were unnecessary to share. A wave of crippling fear such as he'd never felt smothered Matthew, and he had to remind himself to breathe.

"Oh God." His hand shifted to run restlessly through his hair, as all the ramifications of this knowledge spiralled helplessly in his mind. "Do you think she'd - God, Mary... What if she tells someone? What if she - tells your father?" He felt sick.

"Why would she do that?" cried Mary. "Edith's not interested in seeing me become the next countess of Grantham!"

It was an instinctive response and, she felt, a true one. No, Edith would not tell her father. But there were plenty of other people she could tell instead and plenty of other things that she could tell. Matthew didn't know - oh, so much he did not know! She pressed her eyes closed a moment.

"Don't - please don't be alarmed," she continued more quietly. "We may not be the best of friends all the time but she's still my sister, you know!"

She stared at him appealingly. Whatever Edith might or might not do, it was something she had to deal with herself. Matthew panicking could not possibly help.

"But how - how am I supposed to sit with her at dinner!" he cried, louder than he meant to considering Molesley was of course in the house and he quickly hushed his tone. "How can I possibly sit with you, and - her, and - pretend that things are normal!"

Panic was rising to desperation and he looked at her pleadingly. If it had been impossible before... He couldn't do it. Not possibly.

"I really don't know, Matthew!" she snapped, suddenly standing up, as if that would help. He was being ridiculous - or maybe he wasn't. Maybe she was irritated by him saying out loud what she did not let herself feel. "Only I've managed it for the past week so I see no reason why you can't."

She broke off, biting her lip, as Molesley entered the room again and Matthew glared uncharitably at his butler's bright, polite smile.

"I was just wondering if you'd like some tea bringing in, Sir," Molesley offered calmly.

Matthew opened his mouth to refuse, irritated at the interruption but... well, to turn down the offer would be so unlike his manner as to prompt questioning of it and in any case, it might help calm things down a little.

He nodded quickly. "Yes, Molesley, thank you."

Molesley smiled, bowed his head a little, and as the door clicked shut again after him Matthew turned back to Mary with a bright, piercing gaze.

"Obviously I'll just have to, won't I," he muttered ungraciously as if it was somehow all her fault.

Why, _why_ hadn't they thought, why had they shown so little restraint, why had they indulged themselves so... He swallowed as memory made him flush again with colour and his other worry resurfaced afresh.

"But what if - I mean - Mary, even if Edith didn't know, there's still the chance it would be rather obvious if you were -" He had to stop, and steady himself, before daring to voice the prospect aloud. "If you were with child," he finally whispered.

The colour drained from Mary's face as her eyes widened. Oh, she wished he would stop saying things out loud! Didn't he have any delicacy at all?

"No," she whispered, almost to herself. "No, I'm not." She shook her head as if in effort to break free and expelled a breath of mirthless laughter, managing to meet his eyes again. "Don't you think I'd know if I was?"

"I don't know!" Matthew spluttered, wishing desperately that he could believe her. "We were hardly - considerate of the possibility!" His ears burned at putting voice to what they had done, so rashly and without thought and so... passionately.

"No, you don't know!" she cried defensively, taking a step towards him in her nervous vehemence. "They say," she continued in a rush, "that it's a necessary consequence - but it isn't. I tell you that it isn't." She spread her arms and turned on the spot before glaring at him. "Do I look pregnant to you, Matthew?" she challenged him directly.

"Well - no!" he shrugged helplessly. She was right - he had no idea. None at all. Of course he had some idea of... how all that happened, but... He had no brother or sister, no close relatives he knew who'd given birth, only colleagues who spoke of their wives and that was hardly in any sort of way that mattered as men didn't really have much to do with that sort of thing. He supposed considering his parents' profession he _should_ know something of it, but, well – he didn't! And he suddenly felt terribly ignorant and stupid, but still, it was so _soon_ and how could she be sure? "But Mary, surely -"

Before he could press her further the door opened as Molesley appeared with the tea and Matthew muttered in frustration under his breath. Mary pursed her lips tightly and retreated back to the sofa, sitting down and neatly folding her hands only to unfold them a moment later to take a cup of tea from Molesley and bestow a bright and charming smile on him. She hoped Matthew would drop the conversation. It was putting her on edge. Why did he have to worry so? Oh, of course she was in a permanent state of anxiety these days but it only made it worse if she saw him and was reminded of it! The least he could do was to be nice to her.

"Thank you, Molesley."

Matthew forced himself to sit down as well and, seeing as there was a cup in his hands now anyway he took a sip. Molesley was hovering. No matter how appreciative Matthew was of him, now, that tendency still irritated him when he felt as restless as this.

"I think we'll be quite alright," he said to dismiss him, mustering a smile of thanks as Molesley left. If only he could be quite sure they'd be alright, he thought ruefully. Another sip, and he stood up again, the teacup rattling delicately in the saucer as he paced and gripped it tightly in his state of nervous agitation.

"I only wish I shared your confidence," he said as he turned back to Mary, his very tone signalling his disbelief.

"So do I!" she replied waspishly, her eyes following him backwards and forwards across the room.

She took a sip of tea, not that she really wanted it. The last time they had drunk tea together...Back and forwards, back and-

"Oh, I do wish you'd stop pacing, Matthew!" she exclaimed eventually. "I don't know what good it will do. Share my confidence or don't, but you admitted yourself you don't know anything about it." She placed her tea rather more heavily on the side table than she would have liked. "Anyway, must we talk of that? How was your day at work? Is your mother well? Must you be so fretful?"

"For God's sake, Mary, don't belittle it!" he snapped at her, walking quickly towards her to set his own cup down, the force causing the barely touched tea to slop out into the saucer. He pursed his lips angrily. "I might not know much about it but it's hardly something of little consequence to simply be brushed aside!"

She stood up abruptly to face him before he could loom over her too much, finding herself suddenly far too close to him. Her heart began to hammer; it was impossible. Wherever she looked, her eyes seemed to return to his lips, to the haze of stubble on his chin she shouldn't have been able to perceive, the pulse beating more quickly in his throat, and the firm line of his shoulders.

"No - but, honestly, dear, you're trying to brush aside what doesn't exist." She swallowed and moistened her lips as she tried to move backwards, only to find herself blocked by the sofa, suddenly panicking.

Matthew's heart pounded, then seemed to stop for a moment at her affection before racing quicker than before in his chest. He took an instinctive step towards her as she backed away, wishing he could believe her, wishing... Her lips shone, her eyes shone, her cheeks were porcelain and - his fingers twitched reflexively to reach for her, though they remained by his sides.

"If - you're sure," he whispered after a deep breath to calm the pulsing ache rushing through his veins, making his head spin. His eyes fluttered closed. "Alright." He must believe her. He _must_.

He filled all her senses. Even the very air between them seemed charged with heat and longing. Before she could make any conscious decision, she was already acting to close the gap between them. One hand slid round his neck to pull his head down towards her and she kissed him deeply and confidently, letting out a sigh of fulfilment as she did so, as her other hand went round his waist to embrace him fully.

The sensation was so immediate and so intense that Matthew groaned helplessly into her mouth, shocked by the strength of his own arousal that instantly flamed at her dominance. There was nothing he could do but to respond, as his hand rose to cup her cheek as he indulged in the taste of her lips and her tongue, that _God_ he'd missed... Nothing else mattered, not in this moment.

His immediate and passionate response only inflamed her further. With a muffled sound of pleasure she tilted her head, drank him deeper and pulled him closer, relishing the feeling of his body pressed with such delicious, welcoming familiarity against hers. No hesitation, no insecurity, nothing that there should have been at such inappropriate intimacy - only a regret at all the layers that necessarily separated them.

Yearning for a greater closeness, impossible as it was, Matthew pressed against her warm body, trapping her between his own and the sofa. He flamed with overwhelming desire as every part of him remembered the touch of every part of her, the feel of her, the taste of her, and he shuddered in her arms. As his thumbs brushed tenderly over her cheeks he wondered again at their perfect softness, and he couldn't get enough of her, and then... even through his fogged awareness he heard the distant sound of the front door.

Matthew continued to push her back and Mary tripped, falling backwards onto the softness of the sofa and pulling him down on top of her, gasping as the kiss was broken. Her hands knotted quickly into his hair and she wriggled beneath him as her lips touched his cheek and neck before frantically reclaiming his lips. Panic swelled instinctively in Matthew's chest, first as they fell and he feared he might crush her (but she was only... pulling him down harder) and then as he dimly heard his mother's voice greeting Molesley in the hallway. But... potent arousal was stirring more strongly in him than fear, and _Mary_... He could feel her, so deliciously and familiarly beneath him, as he quickly kissed her again, and more, and then footsteps... and with a quiet groan of frustration he tried to push himself off, though as his hands sought purchase for leverage he found himself instead grasping her breast, and he bit his lip in agonising desire as he finally struggled upright at the very last moment, his body pulsing. Good Lord, he dreaded to think of what he looked like, and hastily ran a hand through his hair.

"Ah!" breathed Mary, her eyes falling shut in pleasure, before opening again a second later. "What?"she murmured in confusion, pushing herself up into a semi-sitting position, her mind still completely clouded by desire. Then the door opened and Cousin Isobel entered. Mary's jaw dropped. The cold chill of shock warred with the unfulfilled desire swirling within her and she struggled to recover herself, looking automatically to Matthew for guidance. He looked back at her with wide eyes, pleading his apology, then to his mother, praying that his cheeks would cool in a moment or two. He should have warned her but he couldn't... couldn't _think_...

"Mary?" said Isobel, looking surprised to see her. "How good to see you again."

"Mother!" Matthew exclaimed at the same time, a pitiful excuse already spilling from his lips over his mother's greeting to Mary. "We were - just having some tea -"

"Yes," said Mary, standing up and swaying slightly. Her legs trembled and she gritted her teeth even as her lips curved into a smile. Oh, at least her education had been good for something! "I only stopped by to say how much we were all looking forward to seeing you at dinner tonight."

Isobel smiled obliviously. "Oh, how kind of you! It almost seems strange, after having holidayed all together for a full week to be back to normal. Matthew and I are certainly looking forward to coming, aren't we dear?"

"Certainly we are," he breathed, glancing apologetically at Mary. His body was thrumming with tension and he could barely muster coherent words to his lips, shifting restlessly under his mother's gaze.

"Yes, that was what Papa thought when he issued the invitation," replied Mary, going through the motions of polite conversation automatically. "Well. Good. I shall see you both at dinner. You must excuse me now, though." She dared to look at Matthew and meet his eyes. "Thank you for the tea, Matthew," she said, and was proud of the steadiness of her voice.

Her eyes pleaded with him however. All she wanted was to close the distance between them again and take him in her arms to finish what they had begun and satisfy the craving she knew they both felt. It was impossible of course, and not just because Isobel was there. It wasn't - it wasn't right or proper but - oh, she wanted him!

"You're most welcome," he said quietly, and even managed a small, tight smile that did not tremble so very much, he hoped. He forced his eyes to remain level with hers, for if they dipped lower he would only remember... want... what he could not possibly now have. "Goodbye then, Mary," he finished softly while Isobel stepped away from the door.

"Of course, don't let us keep you - you do know, though, that you're welcome to drop in any time you like? Well, goodbye for now!"

"You're too kind, Cousin Isobel," replied Mary, rather more coldly than she probably should have done. "Goodbye."

She allowed Molesley to help her back into her coat, even though she tingled all over where the material touched her. Once outside, she stopped on the door step and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. The air temperature was too warm, however, to have much effect. She would simply have to pull herself together before dinner.

Matthew watched her leave the room, heard her step through the outside door and onto the path, and then the door close behind her. To save his trembling legs any further discomfort, he sank onto the settee on which he noticed a faint warmth lingered, still, from - them... He licked his lips and shook his head back towards his mother, trying to distract his thoughts from what might have... _could_ have... happened had she not returned. Would they _really_ have been so unrestrained as to - oh, he couldn't even think of it! But his body still ached with unsatisfied, warm arousal at the memory of her. He shifted, settled more comfortably, and smiled at his mother, who innocuously went to sit at the writing desk. They would simply have to be more careful. They had to be!

* * *

><p><em>AN: Hope you enjoyed! As usual, we'd love to know what you thought._

_Next chapter: Dinner at Downton; even more of an endurance test than usual._


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